Storiesonline.net
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                              Gold & Silver
                                by Morgan

Copyright© 2006 by Morgan


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Description: This story follows "Susan & Jake NIS", but it's not necessary to read it to enjoy this one. It's my first new posting in a while, so I hope my readers enjoy it.

Codes: MF FF harem rom cons bi span BC
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© 2006 by Morgan. All Rights Reserved

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Book I: The Beginning

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Chapter 1



My name is Catherine Smith and I live in Norfolk, Virginia. My story opens in 1984, and I'm at home.

I'm always at home. One could say I fear to venture out in the world, and one wouldn't be far wrong. If I were to be described as a frightened mouse, that wouldn't be inaccurate either.

It was a late spring day and was already becoming quite warm. I shuddered slightly at the prospect of the summer heat because my home — almost unique in the area — was not air-conditioned. The wiring couldn't handle the additional load. In fact, the wiring and the electrical system couldn't even handle all the lighting. We had to be very careful to turn out lights because if too many were left on, the main fuse would blow. We bought those fuses by the dozen!

Who is "we"? That's me, my cook and my man of all work. They were a married couple and had been married for nearly 50 years. That was a problem, too. In fact, it was a couple of problems. In the first place, they didn't marry at the age of 10. Both were on the shady side of 70 and were slowing down ... to say the very least. They should have been pensioned off years before, but I didn't feel I had the money to do it.

I made my way — very carefully — down the driveway. I was to meet a taxi that was to pick me up at the curb. Although there was a circular drive up to the front door, it was in such awful condition I was afraid any vehicle short of an army truck might get stuck. Reaching the street, I looked back at the house. Its lines were lovely. But they were the only things that were.

The house had been built in 1840 on a very large piece of land. Oddly enough, the neighborhood was quite prosperous and mostly quite up-to-date. This resulted from a series of fires and other occurrences that at one time or another had destroyed most of the surrounding homes that had originally dated from the same period.

While waiting for my taxi, I looked at the property and felt ill. The house was over 140 years old, and showed every year of its age ... and then some! As I said before, its lines were beautiful, although the overall appearance wasn't far from an overgrown jungle. Foundation plantings and shrubs had grown out of control over the years until much of the house itself had become obscured.

I really needed to renovate the property, but it was apparent that the amount of work required would have made it uninhabitable during reconstruction, and where would we live in the meantime? Of at least equal importance, where would the money come from to pay for the work? That was one of the reasons for my venture out into the world that morning.

My reverie was interrupted by the arrival of my taxi. Getting into the back seat — the driver had just sat there watching — I directed him to the headquarters of United Virginia Bank here in Norfolk. The driver merely grunted an acknowledgment and we drove off.

While in transit, this might be a good time to tell you about myself. The startling fact — it would be unbelievable to people who know me — is that I was 34 years of age. Why would that be startling? Because I looked my age ... plus about 40 years. In the first place, my hair is gray. And I don't mean that shiny prematurely-gray, gray, I mean the yucky drab, lost-its-color-with-age gray. Then there's my figure. Oh, sure ... my figure. Everyone is supposed to have one, and I guess I had one, too. I was shocked when a doctor measured me after forcing me to stand up straight — I never do — and told me I was five feet nine. In my normal slumped-over posture at the time, I appeared about five-four. In short, I was a physical mess.

I was raised by my grandparents. My own parents were both killed in an accident when I was 10 years old. You may not believe this, but I was actually raped when I was eight and gave birth at the age of nine! I never saw my baby and know nothing about it. I don't know if it was a boy or a girl. My parents knew — they disposed of it somehow — but never told me and they were killed about a year later. Whether my childhood pregnancy had anything to do with their death, I never knew. One thing did happen, though. The doctor said I was so young when I delivered that I would outgrow the stretch marks and I did.

By the way, at the time this story opens, I was the only person alive who knew I had ever been pregnant.

I guess the combination of the rape coupled with being raised by my grandparents colored my life. In the first place, I was and remained a shrinking violet. Furthermore, most people thought I was my grandparents' daughter rather than their granddaughter. Coupled with my appearance, as soon as I was grown they thought I was at least 20 years older than I really was.

The second factor resulting from my rape was a fear of men. I wasn't very attractive and went out of my way to look as unattractive as I could. Whenever I had to buy clothes — one must wear something,  after all — I went out of my way to get the least-attractive items I could find, usually in at least a couple of sizes too large. I was the despair of every clothing-store salesclerk with whom I ever had contact.

Oh, yes ... I did — and do — have brilliant blue eyes, but I had learned to squint to hide them as much as possible.

Finally we arrived at the bank, so end of background on Catherine Smith.

I was really quite nervous. The reason for my excursion was to meet with Ann Stockdale, the new Executive Vice President heading the bank's Trust Division. And the reason for our meeting was the abysmal performance of my investment portfolio. Between money I inherited from my parents and later from my grandparents when they died, not many years ago I had had about $50 million.

I said the bank's investment performance was poor? Let me put it a different way: Last year, if its performance had been twice as good as it was, it would have been disastrous. I started the year with $20 million and ended it with only ten. Another year like that and I would be destitute.

In fairness, while I was hard-hit last year, I wasn't the Lone Ranger. Comparable results had been achieved for the rest of the bank's investment clientèle. Thus the housecleaning and Ann Stockdale's being hired for the position. The entire investment management staff had been fired.

I entered the bank building's elevator lobby and took the elevator to the Trust Division floor. Getting off, I was facing an impressive-looking reception desk behind which sat an equally impressive-looking receptionist.

"Good morning," I muttered. "Catherine Smith to see Ann Stockdale. I have an appointment."

"Good morning, Miss Smith!" the receptionist cheerily replied. "Mrs. Stockdale is expecting you. You may take a seat if you wish, but her secretary will be right out."

I remained standing — or more accurately, slumping — in front of her desk and moments later a woman appeared who greeted me and ushered me back to a cherry-paneled corner office. The secretary entered, then stepped aside as a woman rose from behind the desk to rush around to greet me.

I was amazed. From what little I had read, I knew that Ann Stockdale was a grandmother, but she was the youngest-looking grandmother I had ever seen. At about five feet nine she was quite tall. She was slender and had a perfect figure. With her golden hair worn in an urchin cut and brilliant blue eyes, she appeared to be in her twenties.

She greeted me, ushered me to a leather-covered sofa, and then took a seat on a side chair beside me.

After exchanging pleasantries, I asked about her grandchildren. (I had heard somewhere that the safest thing to say to a grandmother was to inquire about her grandchildren.)

She startled me with her reply.

"I'm too damned young to be a grandmother!" she wailed. "And my damned daughter dropped one just a few months ago, and already there's another bun in the oven! Can you believe it?"

"But ... but," I stammered, "I thought it was your son. I didn't know you had a daughter, too."

"Hah! I took care of that months ago. Just in case my son turns out to have rocks in his head and somehow lets Emily get away, I adopted her as my daughter." She shook her head and added, "Can you believe that girl? She's nursing her first, is expecting her second, but her weight and measurements are back to almost her measurements before her first pregnancy! The only difference is that her tits are just the slightest bit larger. And can you believe it? She still doesn't even wear a bra! She supports her milk-laden tits without the slightest sag. Can you believe it? She can pass the pencil test today! I hate her!"

"Pencil test?" This was a test I had never heard of.

Ann grinned and explained, "It's a test that's popular in college, or was. You lift a girl's tit and put a plain wooden pencil under it against her chest. If there's any sag at all, when the tit is released, the pencil is trapped by its weight. Normally, about the only girls who can 'pass' are the flat-chested ones. Emily is a solid B, she's nursing, and she passes! And I hate her!" Ann repeated.

Clearly this woman was jerking my chain. Changing the subject slightly, I asked, "Tell me about your grandchild. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"She's the most beautiful, most perfect little girl God has ever created," Ann replied in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. It was an established fact. "And you realize," she added, "that's an objective determination. The fact that I'm Susan Ann's grandmother, and she's named after me has nothing to do with it at all." Her eyes were gleaming with happiness as she very cutely stuck out the tip of her tongue.

"This pencil test you mentioned ... I'm not sure I understand."

Ann rose to her feet and went to her desk. Returning, she stood before me and unbuttoned the double-breasted suit jacket she was wearing. I'm sure my eyes must have gaped when I realized she wore nothing underneath. I found myself looking at a perfect pair of tits with her engorged nipples upthrust. Taking a plain wooden pencil she had retrieved from her desk, she put it horizontally under her left tit after first lifting it up with her left hand. When she released it, the pencil immediately dropped to the floor.

"And that's the pencil test," she said as she re-buttoned her suit jacket.

I'm certain my eyes must have been as big as saucers at that moment. "But ... but you passed," I stammered, "and you're a grandmother!"

"So what?" she retorted. "I haven't nursed a baby in over 25 years, either. I've had time to recover. Emily passes while she's still nursing!"

But then she changed the subject. "Before going upstairs to our dining room, Catherine, there are a couple of points I want to cover:

"First of all, there will be no bank charges of any kind against your account for last year." She swallowed hard and her eyes flashed as she added, "Our services for last year are free. All they cost you was about half of your net worth, or about $10 million.

"Second, we will be meeting a young woman named Martha Stone. I am proposing — we are proposing — that she take over the management of your trust account and your investments. I will go into this in more detail when Marty is present, but for now I will only say that, although she is quite young — not quite 25 — she may be the finest money manager alive in the world today. You'll hear more at lunch, but I have the numbers to prove it."

She paused at that point and studied her hands, which were folded on her lap. Then speaking very softly she continued, "Marty is one of the first of my girls to finish school." Again she paused. "That requires some explanation. You see, in western Virginia there's a settlement — that's really all one can call it — that's been essentially cut off from civilization for generations. What they do is raise girls, primarily for sale to whorehouses." She paused, grinned wryly and continued, "Out there they think I'm a madam. I've been visiting every year to buy up intelligent-looking girls. I bring them back and enroll them in private boarding schools. I continue paying all their expenses as long as they choose to continue their education."

Again she paused before continuing, "Marty may choose to tell you more about it ... or she may not. What I've just told you is all I'm going to say on this subject." Then with a smile she rose from her chair and asked, "Are you ready to eat? I'm sure Marty is dying of impatience while waiting in the dining room to meet you."

So off we went.

When I first laid eyes on Martha Stone, I was utterly stunned. She was the most beautiful person — male or female — I had ever seen in my life. Believe it or not, I could actually feel myself straightening up from my normally hunched-over posture. That was because she was about five feet ten, and since she was wearing two-inch heels, she was almost exactly six feet tall. Not only was she tall, she was very slender with very long — and perfect — legs along with brilliant blue eyes and golden blonde hair. In short, she was a knockout!

We exchanged greetings, but I'm sure all I did was mumble something or other. In her presence at the time that was all I was capable of doing.

We were in a small private dining room with a single table set for three. Ann Stockdale indicated seats and ordered white wine from the waitress standing by the door. Taking my seat, I noticed that there were no menus. Apparently our lunch had been pre-ordered.

While sipping our wine, Ann asked Marty, "Would you care to tell Miss Smith what you think of the bank's investment performance on her account?"

"With respect to last year," she began, "if it had been twice as good as it was, it would have been disastrous." I was amused. Those were almost exactly the same words I had been thinking while being driven to the bank.

Ann began, "Miss Smith—"

"Please call me Catherine," I interrupted, "or ... or Cathy." No one had ever called me Cathy in my life. But for some reason — perhaps it was the Martha/Marty thing — I really liked the sound of it.

"Cathy," Ann continued with a lovely grin, "last year, while the bank was losing half your money, Marty was running a series of phantom portfolios. She's been doing that for me for years. The way they work is that I give her an assumed starting value for each one (each has it's own investment objective, ranging from 'widows & orphans' — your money — to aggressive growth). Last year, her most conservative fund — the 'widows & orphans' — gained over 30 percent."

"How ... how did the aggressive growth fund do?" I stammered.

Ann looked at Marty with a question in her eyes but replied, "Up about 130 percent, wasn't it?"

Marty did not reply verbally. But she did blush and nod her head once.

"You see, Cathy, she's very good ... and she's made a bundle for me."

Marty was obviously startled by Ann's last statement. "And how in hell did I do that?" she demanded.

Ann giggled, and it was the loveliest sound I've ever heard. "It was easy, really." Then with her eyebrows raised she continued, "You might have been playing for fun, but I wasn't." Again she giggled and went on, "For four years now, whenever you made a paper move with your aggressive growth portfolio, I mirrored it with real money. So I got that 130 percent last year for real!"

Marty was stunned speechless.

Ever since I first laid eyes on the girl, I was strangely attracted. Then I did something totally out of character for me. I asked, "Do you have a permanent place to live here in Norfolk? Ann tells me that you've spent the last years in school."

I received a strange look from Marty in return. "No," she replied, "I really don't. I'm living in a garden apartment until I can find something more permanent."

"How about coming to live with me?" I heard myself asking. "I have lots of room..."

Before Marty could even open her mouth, Ann interjected, "Don't do it! That place is falling apart."

"That's something I wanted to talk to my trust officer about," I said. "I'm going to need a few thousand extra this year to fix the place up—"

"A few million is more like it," Ann interrupted. Then to Marty she said, "It's an utterly gorgeous historic old home, but renovation would cost millions." Then shaking her head she said to me, "Cathy, as much as it pains me to say it, you just don't have that kind of money anymore."

Then we were both shocked when Marty interjected, "But I do." Then to me she said, "I have a proposal for you, Cathy: Why don't you come and live with me while your house is being renovated, and then I'll come and live with you."

Wow! It was apparent that my attraction to her wasn't one-sided.

I was further shocked when her face reddened and she said, "I must withdraw that invitation. There's no way you would care to associate with me, let alone live with me."

I was stunned. "You are the most beautiful young woman I've ever seen let alone met, and Ann tells me you are the most capable money manager alive."

Marty's hands were folded on the table in front of her. I could see her knuckles whiten as she continued, "It's my background. Miss Smith, I've been looking through your file here at the bank. As you know, we have been managing your estate for generations, so the file is quite comprehensive.

"I learned, for example, that your family dates back to the first governor of Virginia. You're FFV [First Families of Virginia] in spades! I'm sure that your home is virtually papered with portraits of family members who fought in every American war people have ever heard of and more than a few that they've long since forgotten."

She was correct. There were more portraits of uniformed men than I ever bothered to count.

Marty continued, "In rather stark contrast, not only don't I know anything about my family, I don't even know who my mother is!

"I was raised until the age of about 10 in a tiny community in the hills of western Virginia. The only 'industry' there is raising girls for sale, mostly to whorehouses." She grimaced and continued, "Let me tell you a bit about it.

"In the first place, about all you see there are women and young girls. There are some men who are used as breeding studs. Many of the women appear to be in their late 60s or 70s, yet there's not one who's older than her early 30s. Why? Because typically they're toothless. In college I took enough biology to figure out that they lose their teeth due to a lack of sufficient calcium in their diet. Moreover, the older ones have sagging lower bellies — they look almost like a female kangaroo without a baby in her pouch — resulting from being constantly pregnant. By the age of 30, a woman might have already had 20 children beginning when she was about 10. The timing of the babies is that they're often only 10 or 11 months apart in age.

"The women who aren't noticeably pregnant sleep in a dormitory. Their beds are odd, to say the least. The women's torsos are on a downward slant and their lower bodies are over the edge while their legs are down and held wide apart with ankle clamps. (Festering sores on the ankles resulting from the clamps are standard; every woman has them, and no one seems to notice.) They are exposed to any man — any stud — who happens to be passing through. If they're there for a while and don't get pregnant, they're disposed of.

"Children after weaning are also raised in dormitories. I've thought about it a great deal, and have come to the conclusion that there's a certain 'survival of the fittest' element at work. The kids have to fight for food at the feeding trough — that's really the way they eat — and I guess the weaker ones just don't make it."

"What ... what about the women?" I asked. I was utterly horrified by her tale.

"They ... just go away," she replied softly. Then she looked into my eyes and added, "You know what? I've seen a number of them going away — to their death, I suppose — and the look I see is really one of relief. Their lifetime of torture is about to come to an end."

"You said the community is almost all women. But what about the boys? Surely all the babies aren't female..." I let the sentence hang.

"Most of the males just disappear like the older women," Marty replied impassively.

I thought for a bit about what I had just learned. Meanwhile, Marty and Ann remained silent. Then the realization of what was going on hit me. "But ... but..." I stammered, "what's going on out there is slavery! And this is Virginia, after all..."

Marty laughed bitterly and replied, "That's a long-standing tradition here, although it's not one people talk about very much." She paused for a moment and then continued, "In the antebellum days — about the time your home was built — Virginia plantations were pretty well worn out. The fertility of the soil had been essentially destroyed. So many plantations here turned to breeding slaves for sale to plantations further south.

"After all, virtually no slaves were brought over from Africa after 1820; the British blockade of the Slave Coast was far too effective.

"So for the first 10 years of my life I was raised to be a slave ... primarily a sex slave.

"Do you really think you could stand to associate with a slut like me?" she demanded.

I could feel tears flowing down my cheeks. "I would be the proudest woman in Virginia if you would consent to live with me, Martha Stone."

"Wait a minute," Ann interjected. "Marty, before you began telling Cathy about your history, I said she doesn't have the money to renovate her home, but you do! How could you possibly have so much money?"

"Miss Smith—"

"Cathy, please!" I interrupted. With a tiny smile I added, "Since we're going to be living together, don't you think we should be on a first-name basis?"

With the warmest smile I've ever seen, Marty began again. "Cathy, I have no idea how much Ann has spent rescuing waifs like me, but it's got to be a great deal. She already told you that she pays all our expenses as long as we continue our education. What she didn't indicate is what she thinks of as an expense.

"For example, we get lavish gifts for Christmas and for our birthdays. Incidentally, where and how she got a birth certificate for me I never knew and don't know. I really think she just picked a plausible date at random."

Then to Ann she said, "The answer to your question is your gifts and some good luck investing."

"Where investing is concerned, your results are never luck, Martha Stone. But I still don't understand..."

"It's simple, really. The other girls used the money you gave them to pay for lavish trips, to buy cars, furs, jewels ... After taking care of my clothing — and I never wore much anyway — I invested mine."

"And how much do you have now?" Ann pursued.

"Something north of $20 million."

"What!" Ann nearly screamed. "You ... you can't! I mean ... I may have given you a few thousand from time to time, but ... And just remember, young lady, I've been tracking your portfolio performance and as good as it is, it's not nearly that good."

"That's the performance of the portfolios you assigned to me. But that's not where my own money is."

"Oh?" Ann inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Mine is in my Swinger's Fund," Marty replied with a grin. "It's ... it's done pretty well."

"Like how well last year?"

"It grew by a factor slightly greater than 10."

"Okay for you, Martha Stone," Ann said with her eyes gleaming. "You're fired!"

Marty was utterly stunned and so was I. The girl looked like she had been poleaxed. "But ... but why?" she finally managed to stammer.

Ann didn't answer directly. Instead she asked, "How many job interviews did you have in graduate school?"

Clearly, Ann's question took Marty by surprise. Her eyes widened but she replied, "None."

"Why not?"

"Because you offered me a job here."

"You graduated at the top of your MBA class at Wharton with a major in finance. I know a bunch of your classmates took positions on Wall Street. How do their starting salaries compare with yours?"

"Higher, I guess," Marty replied slowly.

"You guess? What utter bullshit! You know! And so do I. The fact is that a couple of those kids started at about five times what I'm paying you. So why did you come here?"

Marty didn't reply. Instead, she just looked down at her hands, still folded on the table.

"You came here out of gratitude, didn't you? And you gave up very big money to do it, too. Now admit it!"

Still no reply from Marty.

Suddenly Ann's attitude changed dramatically. "Martha Stone, I love you like a daughter and I always have. I really hate to say it, but you've always been my favorite. I had great expectations for you, and you never met them..."

Marty looked at Ann in a state of shock on hearing her words.

" ... you always far exceeded them, as high as they were," Ann finished. "And that's not just academically, it's in every way."

To me she said, "I told you that Marty has her MBA from Wharton. She was also Phi Beta Kappa at Yale and graduated in the top 10 with a major in economics. She also has varsity letters in two sports and her physical beauty is apparent."

Then to Marty, Ann continued, "I just fired you because, given the bank's salary structure, it's impossible for me to pay you anything close to what you're worth."

Marty raised her hand to demur but Ann ignored it and continued, "But as an independent money manager, we could pay you in soft dollars and pay you what you are worth. And what you're worth is a substantial multiple of what I'm making. Okay?"

At that Ann jumped from her chair and went down on her knees beside Marty. Taking the girl in her arms she proceeded to kiss her with all her power unleashed. Initially, Marty's arms flailed in the air but then she wrapped them around Ann's neck and unloaded with all her passion.

It was really beautiful to see. And then I thought, why am I not shocked? Here are two women kissing passionately — anything but mother-daughter kisses — and I wasn't shocked. It really was so utterly lovely!

Finally the two eased apart and Ann returned to her chair. We continued eating and talking. At the end of the meal Marty said with a grin, "Since I'm no longer working here, I guess I'll clean out my desk — there's so little, it will fit in my attaché case — and Cathy and I can take a look at her house."

We finally finished up and Ann and I returned to her office while Marty picked up her things. When she rejoined us, the two of us went to the garage and got her car. It turned out to be a new white Toyota Camry. She commented that it was a nice conservative sedan for a banker. Off we went.

On the way to my home, I raised the question of my staff. Again it turned out that the young woman had really done her homework and was way ahead of me.

"I don't think there will be a problem," she said. "I learned that the Campbells' children are all in the Charlotte area now. And," she added with a grin, "not everyone on the bank's payroll is a fool. It turns out that way back when, when the Campbells first came to work for your grandparents, the bank set it up so that all the money the two earned was paid to Charles.

"The difference is that it will result in them receiving far higher Social Security payments than they would have if both had been paid. It's one of the ways in which a working couple can get screwed. If you assume each receives about the same pay, each of their Social Security accounts would have about the same money credited. But when they start to draw it out, they're only paid on the larger of the two; the second payments just disappear into the fund. But the way their compensation was handled, they'll receive far more.

"Furthermore, I'm nearly certain that, because they're both over 70, they will receive more than if they had retired at 65. In the same way a person who retires early at 62 receives less than if he waited until 65, a person who waits till he's older before starting to draw payments receives more.

"I don't think there will be any problem."

We arrived at the house, but before I could say anything, Martha drove up the driveway ... very carefully. As soon as the car stopped, Charles and Janet Campbell came from the house to meet us.

Introductions were quickly made — I introduced Marty as my new business manager — and Marty wasted no time to bring up the subject of retirement. She told them they were both to receive lifetime pensions as well as their Social Security. My heart was in my mouth as she told them of the plans.

The Campbells initial reaction when I mentioned retiring was one of fear. But as Marty continued her explanation of the finances, they relaxed and ended up almost euphoric. Since the subject of a pension had never come up, it turned out that they had been saving for their own retirement for years. Furthermore, they had even found a new small house in the Charlotte area that was centrally located with respect to where their children lived. They would be able to use their savings to pay cash for their new house, furnish it, and still have some savings along with social security and the pension. They could not have been happier.

Charles and Janet accompanied us on a tour of the house and grounds. The house didn't take very long but the grounds did. Frankly, I had forgotten — if, indeed, I ever knew — just how extensive they really were. Behind the house were the barn, stables, and even slave quarters. All together the outbuildings occupied a great deal of space. Again Marty surprised me when she produced a 300-foot tape measure and started taking measurements all over the rear of the house.

"Neat!" she finally declared. "The swimming pool will be here, the tennis court over there, and the garage will be largely underground. The building for the emergency generator will be in the back corner so we won't be bothered by the noise when it's running."

With a lovely warm smile she looked at me and declared, "This place is going to be great!"



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Chapter 2



It was two years later, almost to the day, when I woke up in bed. I found myself spooned against Marty's lovely back. I was lying on my right side and my left arm was around her body with my left hand cupping her perfect tit.

Lazily I reflected on the previous two years.

First, the demolition and reconstruction of the house had taken almost 18 months. About all that was left of the original structure were the façade and the two sides of the house — everything that could be seen from the street. The entire structure had been rebuilt with structural steel and reinforced concrete although no one could tell the difference to look at it.

For example, the entrance hall and the curved staircase across from the door appeared to duplicate what had originally been there. Although the floor of the entrance hall was beautifully-laid hardwood in a herringbone pattern — it was both the original design and the original flooring — it had been reconstructed like a professional basketball court. The flooring was not actually attached to the floor. Instead, it sat on a reinforced-concrete floor with the wood separated from the concrete by hundreds of small rubber feet. The result was a resilience when walking that was far better than the original hardwood while maintaining the incredibly deep and rich wood finish. There's something about old wood (and flooring) that even today's technology can't duplicate. And with the sweep of the curved staircase the restored portraits of my ancestors, and the priceless oriental rug centered on the floor, the entry was magnificent ... if I do say so myself.

The house originally had high ceilings because of the correctly-perceived need to do something about the summer's heat. The ceilings are still high — although not quite as high — to conceal an incredibly elaborate system of heating and cooling ducts that now run throughout the house. Although there is no audible sound, the air in the house is changed and run through a complex series of filters at least six times an hour. And if there were to be a crowd in the house — a party, for example — the controls automatically speed up the air exchangers to compensate. It's really pretty neat.

Electric power? Oh, yeah. That's a funny one. Originally Marty intended to use regular commercial power with an emergency diesel generator for backup. But then she had an idea. As a result, a well was drilled in the back corner of my land where the emergency generator was to be spotted, and guess what? We found a small pool of natural gas! Not nearly enough for commercial use, but enough to keep us going for a few hundred years. The gas powers two gas-turbine generators, each of which could handle at least double our electric power requirements. But we have two so one can be down for maintenance and that other good stuff. Electric power consumption? I really don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised if we use more every hour than I used to use in a month.

One more thing: We also use our own gas for cooking, water heating, and as a heating-system backup to the array of heat pumps we have. Honestly, I've never bothered to count how many heat pump units we have, but the answer is lots. The only things we get from the street are water and sewer connections. Although we even have our own emergency supply of water: our swimming pool. It's an Olympic short-course pool — 25 meters by 8 lanes — and is about 2 meters deep, end to end. And you know what? That's really a lot of water. Moreover, it was filled by tank trucks coming down from Maine with spring water. And there's a huge underground water tank that holds the makeup water used to maintain the water level in the face of evaporation. Then, of course, the pool is heated to extend its use, and there is also massive refrigeration machinery to cool it in the summer to keep the pool from feeling like a warm bath.

When the contractors started clearing the land, I was amazed at how large the lot turned out to be. We recovered a great expanse of land just by taking out overgrown bushes in the back of the property.

Remember our driveway? The one I was afraid to allow a taxi to drive on? It was completely rebuilt in a fashion that looked to me like they were building a piece of the interstate highway system. The contractor dug out the original driveway ... and kept digging. I don't know how deep they went, but it was deep. Then they just dumped load after load of crushed stone while a highway-sized roller kept compacting it as it was dumped. Finally it was surfaced with crushed gravel and rolled and compacted and rolled and compacted... ad infinitum. The end result was a very smooth but porous surface that's a pleasure to drive on — a car's tires don't even leave an impression — and not even too bad to walk on barefoot.

It turned out that Martha has capabilities in areas beyond belief. In addition, though, when she doesn't know something, she invariably has a friend or acquaintance who does. Indeed, an individual who is world-class on the subject, whatever the subject might be.

Oh, yeah ... us. Why, you may wonder, did I wake up spooned up against Marty with my hand cupping her tit? That goes back to getting me in shape. It all started almost two years earlier, beginning at a health club close to Marty's old apartment. She decided almost the very first day that I needed to get in shape. (What's "get in shape" mean? I remember wondering when she brought the subject up.) Well, now I know ... I really know! She started me working out on machines at the club, and it hasn't stopped yet. We have more and better equipment downstairs in our fitness room than the club had. It's pretty nice, too.

One of the things that we did was to reconfigure the land contours somewhat. The house was raised a bit so it now sits higher than it used to, although not enough higher to be noticeable. At the same time, the land level at the rear of the house was lowered enough so that our exercise room opens on the pool patio, as does our game room. It's pretty nice.

But I was telling you about getting in shape. I think I mentioned that I used to be stooped over with my shoulders rolled forward. Well, I guess Marty finally got tired of constantly telling me to stand up straight. Since we spent most of our time together naked — she insists that it was the only way she can get a good look at my posture — whenever I slumped — which was almost all the time at first — she would slap my closest tit as a reminder. I guess she got tired of that, too — she claimed it was hurting her hand — so she got a crop that she would use to hit my tit rather than wasting her breath.

Was that all? For Marty? Hell, no! At some considerable cost, she made arrangements at the club for our exercise times to be private. We had the workout room to ourselves. That was to permit us to exercise nude. Furthermore, she had standards — constantly increasing, by the way — that I had to meet in terms of number of reps and total time to complete them. Ugh! The first time I got on a machine — in spite of Marty working out on it first — I thought the damned thing had been welded together into a strange sort of modern sculpture. After she adjusted the resistance to the point where there was virtually none, I was able to move it.

Thinking about it, that was when the crop first appeared. As I got close to the end of a routine, I would slow down. Marty began to use the crop on any available part of my body. It was the approach Voltaire claimed the Royal Navy used when Admiral Byng was shot. (Although he got it wrong: He claimed Byng was hung.) The British, he asserted, would periodically hang an admiral pour encourager les aûtres. Similarly, I would get whacked to encourage me to finish my reps on time.

Anyway, after a particularly tough day, I guess I was a bloody mess. She had been even more enthusiastic than usual in her application of the crop so my skin was broken in quite a number of places. It was only when we returned to her apartment that she realized the damage she had done. She began caring for me and kissing my cuts ... and then my lips ... and then my bleeding nipples.

We had been sharing a bed from the beginning — she had only a single bedroom — and she cradled me in her arms while crying. I couldn't stand the sound of that, so I ignored my pain and hugged her tightly. And so it began. We were lovers.

At any rate, that morning I eased away from her after carefully lifting her hand that was covering mine that was cupping her breast and went into our master bathroom. It was huge. In fact, it was about the same size as the bedroom I had grown up in and used until my grandparents died. There were three sinks (I never did learn why there were three), a huge partially-sunken bathtub, a shower big enough for a party, a bidet, and even a massage table. Pretty nice.

The vanity top in which the three sinks were placed was backed by a mirror that rose to the ceiling and covered the whole wall. It's fair to say that one could get a good look at oneself just standing there. And that's what I did that morning.

You know, it's true that a person seldom notices changes in herself over time. It was certainly true for me. So I just stood there in front of the mirror looking at my reflection. Wow! It was really pretty nice. In the first place, I was now automatically standing up straight with my shoulders back and my tits upthrust. I felt one and found that my nipple was like a small pebble, and just as hard. Maybe that was a result of being cropped on my nipples so often. Who knows? My body was an all-over golden tan and I even had muscle definition.

My pussy was bare. I think I mentioned that my hair was a grungy gray. Well, let me tell you, the hair on my head was lovely compared to my pubic hair. Its color was godawful! We decided that the only cure for that was to get rid of it, so we did. But it came at a cost: As a mark of solidarity with her new mother, Marty shaved off her own golden bush. But it's really great when we go down on each other: no hair in our teeth.

Oh, yes ... One more thing: About six months into our relationship, I made arrangements to adopt Martha as my daughter. So now she's officially Martha Stone Smith. It seems that there are a couple of guys who claim to be very distantly related to me and who had their greedy eyes on my money. Although investigators could find no trace of the brothers in our family tree going back generations, if I died without an heir, there could have been problems. So she was — and is — my beautiful daughter.

There was an oddity in my appearance, though. At the opening of my tale, my hair was a little shorter than shoulder length. Shortly after I moved in with her, Marty took me to a beauty parlor. The stylist just looked at my hair and shook her head in dismay. The result was that she cut it very short, almost a crew cut. After it had grown out a bit, we went back and it was cut again, this time taking off the remainder of my original hair. That's when we were all surprised: the new hair was growing in silver. I don't mean gray, or silver-gray, I mean silver. No one had ever seen hair naturally that color before. It's really pretty neat. Since we both have blue eyes of the same brilliant blue shade, the other guys began calling us the gold and silver twins. And that's not right. We're not twins. As Martha takes great pains to point out to me — constantly — she's almost a full half-inch taller than I am. She's five-ten to my five-nine and five-eighths.

But back to my tale.

I looked at myself in the mirror and suddenly had an epiphany! I wasn't ugly! In fact, I was really sort of attractive. I turned around to look at my bottom and found it was very tight. My hips were slender and my long legs were pretty nicely shaped. Almost as good as Marty's, I thought. I turned to again face the mirror and smiled. Good grief! It was really pretty nice.

For the first time in my life — or at least the first time since the age of eight — I was actually pleased with my appearance. Hallelujah!

With that I padded out of the bedroom, through our sitting room to the hallway and then down the backstairs to the exercise room. Looking out through the plate-glass window that was the back wall, I could see that it was going to be a lovely day. In the pool I could see a female form moving rapidly back and forth. I paused for a moment and realized that her form was perfect and she was really moving through the water.

After going through my exercise routine on the machines — thankfully, Marty wasn't there or I would have received a few encouraging whacks with the crop because I shaded my times a bit — I went out to the pool to do my laps. After finishing, I pulled myself out of the pool, grabbed a fluffy white bath towel and started drying off. Going back into the house, I went up the backstairs to the kitchen.

Jane Johnson, as usual, was at the range. Like me, all she was wearing was a towel around her waist. Before I could even say good morning, she exclaimed, "I hate her!"

Uh, oh! Here we go again,  I thought.

Jane Johnson, or JJ, as we called her, is a raving beauty. She claims to be black. I think we figured out that her great-great-grandmother, or some such, was black. (Actually, the fight was whether there were two "greats" or three.) So she's either one-sixteenth or one-thirty-second black. With her nose in the air, she points out that in Louisiana, a drop of Negro blood makes one a black, so ... Oh, well.

JJ is five feet eight with golden-brown hair and brilliant green eyes. Her body is to die for. And she's our cook. Beyond that, though, she had and still has a TV show, "Cooking with Jane J", as well as a line of cookbooks and cooking accessories. It's really sort of funny watching her show because her set is a duplicate of our kitchen built at the TV studio. The fact is that she rivaled — and was quickly overtaking — Julia Child in popularity. Aside from being a graduate of the Cordon Bleu School in Paris, JJ was also a college graduate with a degree in nutrition.

She's married to our chauffeur and butler, James Johnson. He's a story, too. Jim was a Navy SEAL and won the Navy Cross, the Silver Star, a couple of Purple Hearts, and a couple of other items for bravery. In his spare time, he piddles around with writing. At that time, it was one of his slow periods. Writing under the pseudonym, Mark Mitchell, he only had two of his novels in the top 20 on The New York Times hard-cover fiction best-seller list.

How did we ever get a pair like this to work, let alone work for us? The answer, of course, is Marty again.

But that wasn't all. When Marty hired Jim, she also hired another Navy SEAL buddy of his, Pablo Díaz. (Although Pablo insists his name is Paul, not Pablo.) He, too, has a Navy Cross, etc. (Oh, hell! To keep him happy, hereinafter I'll try to refer to him as Paul.) Anyway, he's our gardener and general handyman. In his spare time, he writes software, with a specialty in code-breaking. Oh, yeah ... For giggles, he also writes computer shoot-'em-up games. Although computer games weren't that big yet, they were growing fast. Because of his work for NSA [National Security Agency, the communications spooks], we had a hookup back then on what became the Internet. He was fond of pointing out that, in the same way Marty could — and did — make far more as an independent money manager than she could possibly make working for a company, he could make millions writing a bit of software over the weekend on a special NSA contract. Wonderful!

His wife, Maria, is our maid. She does the cleaning and the laundry. In her spare time, she paints and draws. A few weeks ago she had her first private show in New York, arranged for — surprise, surprise — by Marty. And Marty was pissed when it was over. Every painting was sold before the dumb show even officially opened, and she was convinced that the gallery had grossly under-priced Maria's work. The least expensive went for $25,000. The next time, Marty vowed, there would be an auction rather than pre-pricing the works. Then Maria might see some real money. All of the art critics gave her show raves, and she was really off and running.

As an artist, she signs her work, Mina. It's funny, really. There was at the time a very famous caricaturist who worked for The New York Times named Hershfield. What developed as his personal trademark was the fact that he worked his daughter's name, Nina, into every caricature. I really think people spent far more time trying to find "Nina" than they did looking at the picture. But anyway, Maria signed her paintings "Mina" in a similar fashion. Usually it was somewhere in the lower right-hand corner, but not necessarily.

The funny thing about our remarkable household is that with the exception of JJ, they're all invisible. "Mark Mitchell" has never appeared on the back cover of one of his books, nor has he ever made an appearance anywhere. Neither has "Mina." Paul's name is known, but he certainly is not. The only person with a public face is JJ and the fact that she lives and works with us and for me has never come out.

But back to my tale.

"I hate her!" JJ repeated.

"Who's 'her'?" I asked blandly.

"Her!" she sputtered, waving a hand in the general direction of our bedroom.

"And why do you hate her this morning? It is such a lovely day..."

"Because she's going to cost me my job, is why!" she wailed. "I ... I ... look like a refugee from an anorexia clinic, for heavens sake! I certainly don't look like I've had a taste of my own cooking — or anyone else's — in months!"

"Oh..." I muttered, trying my best to look sympathetic and trying to keep from grinning.

"Just look at my tits!" she demanded. "There's ... there's nothing for poor Jim to hold on too when he's fucking me. And just look... !" She twisted her torso rapidly back and forth. Her very firm breasts scarcely moved. "Good grief, Cathy, they look like silicone implants, for heaven's sake. Not only don't they shake, they don't even wobble!"

As you can see, we're a bit outspoken in our language around the house. Or at least we are in the rooms — most of them — that are essentially reserved for the family. And you also undoubtedly gathered that JJ's claimed complaints weren't new, either. And you would be correct.

At that point, Maria joined us. Like the two of us, all she was wearing was a towel around her waist. Although the towels were plenty big enough to cover both our breasts and our pussies, we never bothered. Marty claimed that wrapping a towel — or anything else — around our tits could cause problems. I never believed it, and I'm sure she didn't either, but it sounded good. And the fact was that all four of us had lovely tits, albeit somewhat on the small side. But dress designers would refer to our chests as perfect B's.

Maria was the smallest of all of us at five feet six and a bit. JJ was five-eight, Paul was six feet even, and Jim was six-two. Rather than the very dark hair that's very common among Mexicans, Maria's hair was a medium brown. She had the most incredibly piercing gray eyes I have ever seen.

"I hate her!" Maria began, like JJ waving vaguely in the direction of our bedroom. "Just look! Whoever heard of a mamacita without bountiful tits? I'll never make it!" she wailed.

The fact was that we were among the best-conditioned women in Virginia. But I happened to know that that wasn't nearly good enough for Marty. She wouldn't be happy until we were the best-conditioned women in the commonwealth. "Among the best" just wasn't going to do it for her.

Whoops! I nearly forgot. JJ was 27 and Maria was 24. Jim and Paul were both 29.

At that point both Jim and Paul appeared and the wives' bitching came to a sudden stop. The guys each took his wife in his arms and kissed her. Let me tell you, those were not good-morning pecks, either. I could see both women's knees weaken as they had their arms wrapped around their husbands' necks while the two pairs were in lip lock.

"Get a room, for heaven's sake!" I commented. Four heads turned in my direction and four tongues were stuck out in my direction. The nerve of some people's children! "And by the way," I added, "when am I going to see those flat female bellies start to swell? You two have been complaining about your small tits, and pregnancy is supposed to do wonders for that..."

"A baby?" Jim exclaimed. "Support... a baby! On what you pay us? Get real, Cathy!"

As you may have gathered, that was another running joke. The fact was, to frustrate Marty's anal retentive tendencies — their words — often months would go by without their cashing a single paycheck. Once it got so bad, Marty just stopped payment on their outstanding checks and deposited the money directly into their accounts.

And then, of course, she also served as their business manager negotiating contracts and served as their financial adviser. The previous year I know that Jim made millions from his books, yet he claimed that he made even more from the investments that Marty managed for him.

The reality was that now that Maria had had her first show, there was not a single person in the household who was not a millionaire in his or her own right. Amusing.

At that point, Marty finally appeared after her own workout. And like all the rest of us, she just had a towel around her waist. (You know what? We really could have saved a ton of money on clothing. We didn't dress often, and never did unless we had to.)

I don't know if the girls had finally run down, or if they were still euphoric from their morning snuggle with their mates, but there was no griping. Instead, JJ began her daily virtuoso performance at the range preparing breakfasts to order for each of us. It was truly a sight to see and was a daily event in our house.

As we finished, Martha sighed and said, "Well, today's the day."



-------

Chapter 3



I swallowed hard. Marty's comment reminded me of something I had let slip my mind. That day was the great unveiling: Marty and I were going to appear together in public for the very first time. Together we were going over to the country club for luncheon and bridge.

Oh, well ... I suppose I could order a salad; they're pretty hard to ruin. The fact was that for months now I had been eating food prepared by one of the world's finest chefs. And you know what? It's been utterly spectacular. JJ's food is so good, I no longer even mind all the additional work I have to do to burn off the calories.

Marty and I finished breakfast and returned to our suite. We shared a shower, followed by a soak in our baby swimming pool with musk oil floating on the surface while taking turns caressing each other's body with the expensive oil. We finished it by giving each other massages and finally doing each other's hair. Marty's was a golden blonde and was arranged identically to my own.

Since we both had all-over golden tans, we had decided that we would rush the season a bit and wear white sleeveless dresses over thongs.

I was leading the way as we went down the curved staircase in the front of the house. For a change, the other four were dressed, too. James was wearing a gray chauffeur's uniform cut a bit large at the left armpit so that his shoulder holster wouldn't cause an unsightly bulge. (In addition to their other duties, Jim — James when on duty — and Paul were our bodyguards.) Both had concealed-carry permits, and given their proven records in battle, we were as safe as if we were in church.

Paul was wearing a pair of Levi's cut-offs and a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. Maria had on a pair of Levi's short shorts and a T-shirt cut off just below her nipples. The swell of her bare tits was visible below the bottom of the shirt. There was quite a lovely expanse of smooth, tight tanned belly showing. JJ was just wearing short shorts like Maria's but she dispensed with the top. The two girls looked gorgeous, as usual.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, I stopped and asked, "Well? How do we look?"

At that moment my respect for the two women jumped dramatically. As you've probably guessed by now, the teasing in our home was a constant. But this was different. As self-confident as Marty always was, the two women instantly realized that it didn't extend to her personal appearance. She had come up on my left and was standing very slightly behind.

"Utterly ravishing!" JJ breathed. "You two could not possibly look better than you look today!"

Maria echoed JJ using similar words.

Hearing the two, I could hear an audible release of bated breath from Marty. Clearly, she had been nervous while awaiting the appraisal of the two. "Do you really think so?" she asked skeptically.

"Martha Stone Smith, you've never looked a fraction as good as you look right now in your entire life! And your mother!" JJ intoned. "Today, you really are the gold and silver twins. You're simply scrumptious!"

James was already at the door waiting to hold it for us. I gave him a grateful smile as I went out the door ahead of Marty. James immediately rushed past us to be in position to open the car door for us.

Another first! That day I was getting my first ride in one of our latest acquisitions, a silver Rolls-Royce limousine. Frankly, James looked proud as punch as he held the door for us. Wow! The Rolls was at least as lovely within as it was without. I settled back in the seat with Marty beside me.

She was so funny! She was trying her best to look unimpressed, but failing miserably. Not only was she funny, she was so damned cute! And that's pretty hard to do when you're five feet ten as she is.

But off we went.

James pulled up to the main entrance of the country club, jumped out, ran around the car and held the door open for Marty and me to alight. Fortunately for the sake of our grand entrance, other members who had walked over from the parking lot arrived at the doors at about the same time. As a result, as I was the first to exit the car, the main door was open and the people gathered inside got the full treatment.

And you know what? It felt simply great!

I paused for a few moments to let Martha get out and then the two of us marched up the steps. James was ahead of us. He was already at the door to open and hold it for us. He was being ever so sensitive to us weak ladies; I mean ... we couldn't have opened that big ol' door all by ourselves, could we? (I choose not to think about the hundreds of pounds of weight the two of us work out with every day.)

At any rate, the two of us entered the club's foyer, and instantly a man came around from the office. Although I had not set foot in the club for more years than I cared to think about, I recognized Tom Chandler, the club manager, from his pictures in the club's monthly newsletter that I received at home.

"Good morning, ladies," he greeted us. And although his voice was friendly, his eyes were not. "What can I do for you?"

"Good morning, Mr. Chandler," I replied. "I'm Catherine Smith, and this is my daughter, Martha. We've come over today for luncheon and bridge."

When I mentioned my name, Chandler's eyes flared. "But ... but that's impossible! Catherine Smith is one of our oldest members. You're much too young."

"I am probably one of the most senior members," I responded, "and I should be. After all, I've been a regular member since I was about one week old." At that I glanced over to a plaque at the entrance which contained the names of the 25 most senior members. And what do you know? I was number one!

A bit of additional background is in order: In the first place, Marty and I didn't just happen to select that day to appear at the club. First — and it relates to my seniority — I own the damned thing.

Many years earlier, when golf and country clubs were being "invented", my family leased the land on which it stands to the club for 99 years. The oddity was the rent. Rather than paying us money, the family was given ten regular memberships which included all club fees: greens fees, tennis fees, etc. Furthermore, the family — and at that time it was just me — was the sole judge of fitness for membership. If I named someone as a member, he (or she) was instantly a regular member. The fact that, for example, only men could be regular members meant nothing.

The second element was one I learned from Ann Stockdale: The club had been seeking to borrow a number of millions of dollars for a massive expansion. The club's credit was very good and initially it appeared that the loan would be a no-brainer. But then the major bank that had been approached — not UVB — undertook its due-diligence, and actually did it.

The bank learned that the club didn't own its property. Rather, they had a 99-year land lease, and guess what? The lease was due to expire in just a few more years. As a result, the Board of Governors was collectively stunned to learn, first, of the land lease (the then current members had forgotten all about it, if, indeed, they had ever known), and second, that the only way the bank would lend the money would be if the governors, individually and severally, personally guaranteed it.

Needless to say, the governors were not happy to hear either of those bits of news.

But there was another element: I mentioned the club's monthly newsletter. In it, there were near-constant mentions of Laura Baxter, the wife of the club's president. As far as she was concerned, she was Mrs. President. Moreover, I had learned something else: The club's women had an annual bridge tournament with a solid-silver loving cup as its trophy. (Okay, so it's silver plate. Close enough.) Further, if a woman were to win the tournament five years in a row, she retired the trophy and obtained permanent possession of it. And guess what? Laura Baxter had won it each of the previous four years. (Of course she had a partner, but she had changed partners annually so as not to have to share the prize.)

Martha and I had other ideas with respect to the trophy.

But back to Tom Chandler.

"My!" I commented, "I see that I'm now the club's most senior member. How nice!" Then I looked at him and said, "How about if I sign something? Would that help? I'm sure you have my signature on file around here somewhere."

He did.

We moved over to the reception desk where I picked up a piece of paper and signed, Catherine Smith, X-1.

You know, I think it was my account number that did it. The club members' numbers were always a combination of the first letter of their last name along with a number in sequence. Since my name is Smith, ordinarily my account number would be S-something. But that gets back to our peculiar lease. The Smith family membership numbers are all prefaced by X. (If the club ever accepts a member with a last name beginning with X, there will be a bit of a problem.)

When Chandler saw X-1, his eyes flared. "Welcome to the country club, Miss Smith," he said. His attitude had changed dramatically. Then I remembered that he was an ex officio member of the Board of Governors, so of course he would know of both the lease arrangement and the prospective loan. He continued, "It's been a very long time since you've been with us. Aside from lunch and bridge, is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"As a matter of fact, there is. Please issue the necessary items for my daughter, Martha Stone Smith, to be admitted as a regular member. I assume her account number will be X-2?"

"That's correct, and I'll take care of it immediately," he responded. Then to Marty he said, "Welcome to membership. We're delighted to have you." Then to both of us he added, "Since you haven't been with us for a very long time, I'll immediately remind the staff of your position and the fact you're likely to be with us more frequently in the future."

Off we went to the dining room after Marty signed a few items for the club's records. As we went in, I noticed Chandler speaking with a woman seated at another table. I immediately recognized her from her myriad photos in the newsletter: Laura Baxter. When she jumped up from her table and headed out of the dining room, it was all I could do to control a grin.

I was nearly certain of two things: First, she wanted that trophy so badly she could taste it; and second, she would do everything possible to stack the deck in her own favor. The latter was something Marty and I had been counting on. Because, while it wasn't completely necessary, we thought it would be nicer if we beat her out of "her" trophy face to face. I was almost certain she was arranging for us to be at her table on the assumption that we hadn't played bridge there and therefore couldn't be very good.

Her first assumption was, of course, correct. Martha had never set foot in the place, and I hadn't been there in more years than I cared to count. Unfortunately for Laura, her second assumption was not. Previously you've learned of Marty's investment brilliance. (Oh, yeah ... In the two years we've been together, my net worth was again north of $50 million and rising very rapidly.) Well, one reason for her brilliance is her computer mind. She calculates probabilities instantly in her head. And guess what else? Bridge is a game of probabilities.

At any rate, Marty and I finished our salads (they weren't too bad) while the other women at our table pigged out on lavish desserts. Then we strolled while our table-mates waddled to the room where the bridge tables had been set up.

Surprise, surprise ... Martha and I were scheduled to play at the table with Laura Baxter and her partner, Mimi Benson. (Mimi was the latest in a long line of Laura's primary sycophants.)

We went to the designated table and introduced ourselves. I was pleased to note that there was no sign of recognition in the eyes of either of our opponents. Obviously, Bruce Baxter, the club president, either had not shared the news of the property ownership with Laura, or — more likely — she had paid no attention since it did not appear to have any direct effect on her.

The format of the tournament was amazingly simple: It was merely a single rubber of bridge with the highest score at any of the tables being the winner. Then Laura made a lethal mistake: Marty caught her trying to stack a deck. The reason is that Marty was, among other things, an accomplished card mechanic. She could make the cards do anything short of having the ace of spades pop out of the deck and bite you in the ass. (Although I wouldn't care to bet any money that she couldn't do that, too.)

The result of the machinations was that Laura and Mimi were utterly destroyed. We won the rubber in a shutout. Beyond that, though, on the second hand we trapped our opponents into a five no-trump doubled bid (don't ask how they got there) with Marty holding six clubs to the ace-king. I had the lead and the board had the jack and two of clubs. I led my singleton club and school was out. Laura was playing the hand. She ducked, and Marty took the trick with her 10. Then she led her ace, on which Laura was forced to drop her dummy's jack and the rout was on. Laura was down 4 doubled before Marty was finished leading clubs. They ended going down six. That was a nice 1,100 points for the good guys.

The icing on the cake was a grand slam in spades doubled and redoubled that Marty made after we had won a game and were vulnerable. That was worth 2,390 more points along with a 750 rubber bonus.

School was out!

Then — no surprise — Laura tried something else. "Wait!" she exclaimed, "Martha can't play today. This is our annual tournament day and guests are not permitted. Cathy, I know that Martha is your daughter, but she's much too old to be included in a family membership. So that rubber doesn't count. Golly! We'll have to redo the tournament," she wailed with as much sincerity as she could muster. (It really wasn't very much.)

"Oh, dear!" I replied with my eyes as wide as saucers. "I guess it was a good thing that Martha joined as a regular member this morning, then, wasn't it?"

"That's ... that's utterly impossible!" Laura exclaimed. "The membership committee meets only once a month on the first Monday of the month. And she would have to be presented to the members, interviewed ... Good heavens! Joining this club takes a matter of months, at the very least. And she's female! She can't be a regular member!" she concluded.

At that moment a man appeared behind Laura. Again, I recognized him from his picture. It was Bruce Baxter, the club president, and Laura's husband.

He put his hand on his wife's shoulder and extended his hand to me. "How do you do, Miss Smith? I'm Bruce Baxter, the club president, and I'm delighted to meet the club's most senior member at long last." Then to Marty he said, "Miss Smith, I'm certainly delighted to meet you, too. And welcome to regular membership in our club."

"But she can't be a regular member!" Laura wailed. "She's a woman, and women can't be regular members."

"That's correct, dear, unless you're nominated for membership by a Smith. In such case, you're a regular member instantly."

"But ... but why?" his wife asked, utterly amazed.

"Because they own the damned club!" Baxter replied in exasperation. "And that's the rent we pay: no cash, just memberships."

Laura was finally silenced ... for a moment. "Do you ladies play golf?" she asked with all the subtlety of a shark.

"Why yes, we do," Marty replied. Then her face fell as she added, "But Mom and I don't have lockers."

"That's easy to fix," Bruce Baxter replied. Then he left the table to find the manager. He returned moments later with Chandler in tow.

When he explained the need for two lockers, Chandler's face fell. "Mr. Baxter," he explained, "one of the priority items in our building plan is a new ladies' locker room. We don't have a single locker available, and there's a significant waiting list."

"Oh..." Baxter mused. Then he brightened and told Chandler, "They can have my wife's locker — it's a double — and the double next to it." Laura looked stunned and Mimi Benson looked dismayed. It was easy to guess who had the adjacent locker.

"But ... but, Bruce!" Laura wailed. "You can't do this to me!"

"I just did," he replied in a flat, no-nonsense tone of voice.

Better and better, I thought. Not only were Marty and I getting lockers, they were doubles, and knowing Laura, they were undoubtedly the very best at the club. Ah, well ... Rank does have its privileges.

At any rate, we agreed to meet the two for golf at nine o'clock the following morning. I winked at Marty who had pulled a cell phone from her purse and called James to come and pick us up. The other two women looked on in amazement. Cellphones were brand new in the Norfolk area at the time. What fun!

We chatted a bit more. The two of us had already accepted our trophy, although it was being retained for a short time to have our names engraved (I insisted that both names appear) before we could take it home. At that point, Marty rose from the table and led the way back to the foyer. It was funny, I guess. She seemed to tower over the other women, and her beauty seemed to stun them. The surprise to me, though, was that after gazing at Marty, they turned their eyes to me and their jaws seemed to drop even further. How odd.

The fun wasn't quite over, though. Laura and Mimi were both still with us — they were on their way to their own cars — as we went out the door just as James swept up in the Rolls. It was funny as hell! The dropping of the two jaws was almost audible as they realized the limousine was ours.

Why is it that I thought they were having second thoughts about the next day's golf match that Laura had so carefully arranged?

You know what? They were having second thoughts. And it turned out to be with good reason.

First, having made the requisite impression the day before with the Rolls, the next morning Marty drove us over in her BMW 635CSi. The fun began when we arrived in the ladies locker room. The attendant was waiting for us to show us to our lockers, and as I had suspected, since my locker had been Mrs. President's, it was the best one there in what they apparently considered the most prestigious location. Across the room in the equivalent of no-man's-land were Laura and Mimi. I could almost see smoke coming out of Laura's ears.

That's nice,  I thought. Nothing like starting a golf match against an opponent who's so furious she can't even see straight.

After warming up, we went to the first tee ... and proceeded to take them apart. First of all — no surprise — we learned that Laura was the defending women's golf champion at the club. Better and better: we had nothing to lose, but she certainly did. Second, as happens all too often — particularly among women for some reason — she was particularly proud of her low handicap — a 9 — and as a result seemed to forget to post any score that might cause it to rise. (Marty and I had a debate about this one. We finally agreed that her true handicap should have been in the high teens, at least.)

Our case was the reverse. Martha had a handicap from when she was in graduate school, but that was several years before and had been put together when her golf rounds were few and far between. My own had been pieced together from rounds going back more years than I cared to count. But one of the elements of our new fitness room was a computerized golf trainer. Furthermore, Marty had spent time studying the game and had corrected my grip and replaced our golf clubs with sets more appropriate to our far greater strength.

The result of all of this was that we utterly demolished them. We won by 14 strokes gross, and 18 strokes net. To add insult to injury, I even achieved a hole in one, the first of my life.

You know what? If Laura began the round angry, by the time it was over she was so furious I was afraid her hair might ignite from internal heat. And you know something else? I was quite confident we hadn't heard the last of Laura Baxter.

While on the subject of the club, I should add one more thing: Remember the expansion loan for which the bank wanted the governors to sign as personal guarantors? Well, in a show of great generosity, I made the loan myself. And since I owned the land, there was no problem with a possible default; I would get the whole thing, lock, stock and barrel, complete with all the new enhancements, one of which was a second 18-hole golf course.

There was just one other thing: I never did renew the land lease. Rather, it just reverted to a month-to-month thing. Nothing quite like being able to evict the tenants to ensure pleasant treatment from the other members and the staff.



-------

 Book II: Missy Appears

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Chapter 4


It was a couple of days later after dinner — a Thursday, I think. Marty, along with Jim, Paul, and Maria were in the TV room watching something or other — a chick flick, I guess. I was in the kitchen talking to JJ who was puttering around with something or other. (If I didn't say it before, cooking was both her vocation and her hobby. She just loves it. I regularly tease her about all the food that was thrown away uneaten just so she could try out different recipes.)

The two of us were chatting — beyond her culinary ability, she's a brilliant young woman and knowledgeable on a wide range of subjects — when we heard a quiet knock at the back door. I checked the clock and found it was almost nine. Who on earth would be coming to our back door at this time of night? I wondered.

JJ was equally puzzled, but she went to the back door and opened it. From where I was sitting at the breakfast table, I could see the door, and what I saw utterly amazed me. I jumped up from my chair and ran to join JJ.

There, standing at the door, was a young girl wearing, it seemed, only a black polyethylene trash bag with a hole torn in the bottom for her head. Both of us were utterly stunned; neither of us said a word.

Then the little girl said in a lovely but quiet voice, "Good evening, ma'am. Do... do... do you have anything I could eat?"

Hearing those words, I felt like my heart had just been ripped out. The girl was so winsome and yet so serious.

Before I could move a muscle, JJ had scooped up the waif, carried her across the kitchen, and gently set her down on a chair at our breakfast table. "Of course we do!" JJ finally said. "What would you like to eat?"

The girl's eyes just widened. When they did, I realized they were the identical brilliant blue of Marty's... and my own. "Anything at all," she finally replied very softly.

"How would an omelette be?"

"That would be wonderful," the girl replied. A very puzzled look had passed quickly across her face, though. I was quite sure the poor thing didn't know what an omelette was.

While JJ raced to put food together, I went into the TV room and told the others what was happening. It took only an instant and then the rest of us trooped back into the kitchen.

As usual, Marty was the first to fully grasp the situation. Without saying a word, she raced out to the library to call Robert Richards, the only doctor left in Virginia known to make house calls.

When she returned, she told me very softly that Rob would be over in about 30 minutes.

In just that very short time JJ had put together an utterly magnificent chicken liver omelette and placed it on the table in front of the girl. She was just sitting quietly with her hands folded in front of her on the table. When the food was placed in front of her, its aroma wafted up and I could see her nostrils flare as they caught the succulent scent. But she didn't move.

"Don't you want it?" I asked. "Would you rather have something else?"

"Oh no, ma'am!" she quickly replied. "I'm just waiting for you grownups to eat first, and then I'll eat if there's anything left." With her eyes wide she looked at me and almost broke my heart as she added, "But it certainly smells delicious!"

That was more than Marty could take. She pulled out a chair, sat beside the child and cut into the omelette with a fork. Then she held it up to the girl's mouth — in spite of her obvious hunger, her mouth was still closed — and said, "This is all for you. Please try it?"

The girl took the bite and her face lighted up. Marty handed the fork to her and she began to devour her food. But, I noticed, she ate very carefully and neatly in spite of being starved.

Quickly she finished the food and leaned back a bit in her chair. "That was so good!" she exclaimed.

But then I heard a sound coming from her digestive tract. Again her eyes flared and she exclaimed, "Oh, dear!" putting her hand over her mouth.

This time it was Maria who was the quickest. She lifted the girl from her chair, carried her to the sink and put her head over it. We all heard an awful-sounding rumble and her wonderful omelette came vomiting out.

Maria held her as gently as she could with one arm while using her other hand gently to caress the child and wipe away the sweat that had instantly appeared on her forehead. "It's all right, child," Maria murmured. "It's all right. You're safe now. Everything will be all right."

The little girl had begun to cry. I was certain that she was crying from embarrassment, not from pain. "Jim," I asked, "please carry her into the library and put her on the couch. Paul, could you get a nice warm blanket for her?"

Jim scooped the girl out of Maria's arms as if she were weightless. In view of his incredible strength, I'm sure that to him she was. Paul disappeared in search of a blanket, while the rest of us followed Jim into the library.

JJ was berating herself. "What a stupid fool!" she exclaimed. "Any idiot would know that an omelette like that is far too rich for a starving child!" And by then it had become apparent to all of us that "starving" was an accurate description.

Jim had no sooner stretched the small girl out on the leather sofa when Paul reappeared with a light cashmere blanket and even a small pillow. With utmost tenderness he raised her head, positioned the pillow, then covered her still-plastic-covered body with the white blanket. Maria was right there beside him. As soon as he finished, she took a sharp knife, slit the plastic and carefully removed it from her body while still leaving her covered with the blanket.

"This is so soft... and warm... and wonderful!" the girl murmured.

"Hi, sweetie! My name is Maria. What's your name?"

"My name is Melissa," the girl replied softly, "but the truck driver who gave me a ride down here called me Missy and I like it better."

"The big guy who covered you with a blanket is my husband, Paul. The bigger guy who carried you in here like a feather is James, and he's married to Jane — or JJ — who cooked the omelette for you."

Turning to me she said, "This is the wonderful woman all four of us work for. Her name is Catherine Smith. And this over-muscled one is her daughter, Martha." Then Maria turned on an utterly brilliant smile and added, "Welcome to the Smith household, Missy. I certainly hope you will like living here with us."

The girl's eyes widened. "Living here? With you? But... but..."

Maria smiled warmly and just nodded her head.

"But where?" Missy asked. "This is the biggest house I've ever seen. In fact, I came here because I thought it was a hotel or something and... and... maybe I could get some food its restaurant was throwing out. But... there's not even a stable. Where could I sleep?"

Before anyone could reply, the doorbell rang and James went to open it. Moments later he returned leading Rob Richards into the library. Rob came complete with his black doctor's bag. He dropped to his knees beside the sofa on which Missy was lying and introduced himself to her.

Missy began slowly to shake her head in negation. I moved closer and heard her say, "No, Doctor, you can't. Doctors are expensive and I have no money at all."

Before I could say anything, Rob looked up while trying to look thoughtful. "Hmm... no money... Well, we'll have to try something else." Looking deep into Missy's brilliant blue eyes he said, "Instead of money, how about giving me a kiss? But it has to be a really good one. One that would make my wife really jealous. Could you do that?"

Paul had really done a good job. The blanket was up around Missy's neck and only her head was showing. Her arms came out from under the blanket — I felt ill as I realized how thin they were — and wrapped themselves around Rob's neck. She pulled him closer and lifted her torso off the sofa at the same time. Then she really unloaded. I was amazed to see from the movement of her mouth that she was probing his with her tongue. Slowly she eased away.

Dr. Richards sat back on his heels and I could see he was woozy. "Wow!" he murmured. Then he smiled and said, "That kiss was worth a full physical examination... at least!"

At that point, JJ returned with a bowl of chicken broth and some additional pillows. She raised Missy up against the pillows and began feeding her the soup while Rob conducted his examination. He and the bowl of soup were finished at the same time.

While he had been conducting his examination, I had noticed that Maria had picked up her sketch book — it was never out of her reach — and was using pastels to do a drawing. As she was sketching, Rob had stood up and was talking with JJ, still visibly upset for causing Missy's upset stomach.

The two were discussing Missy's diet when we heard Rob say, "You certainly seem to know a lot about nutrition."

"She should," Maria commented dryly. "She'll have her doctorate in the subject in just a few more months." She hadn't lifted her head from her sketch, though, as she spoke.

Suddenly, Rob's eyes widened. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "JJ — Jane J... That's you, isn't it? You're the fabulous cook who's on television. My God!" Then he laughed and said to Missy, "If JJ is cooking for you, you will be eating food prepared by possibly the world's finest chef. Sweetie, she's the very best!"

Missy just looked up at JJ in awe.

In the meantime, JJ had gone to the kitchen and returned with a pot of tea. She poured a mug, Rob gave the girl a pill to take, and Missy washed it down with some of the tea.

"What was that, Doctor?" I asked.

"That was an anthelmintic," he replied. "In this case, it's a broad-spectrum killer of parasites in the digestive system. I'm virtually certain Missy is carrying them. What I would like you to do is to wait a few days, then bring in a stool sample for testing. Then we'll see if there are any left."

Maria had disappeared for a few minutes. When she returned, she had her sketch pad and a can of fixer to spray the pastel she had just completed. The spray prevents the colors from running. She let it dry for a few moments and then very carefully tore the page from her book.

"Dr. Richards," Maria said, "please accept this small token of our appreciation for coming out at night to care for the newest member of our family."

I was standing beside the doctor as he took it from her. He looked at it and gasped. The picture showed the doctor standing by Missy who was lying on the sofa with the blanket top at her waist. The prominence of her ribs was clearly visible in the pastel. Above the picture she had written, "To Robert Richards, MD, the finest, most caring, most loving physician in the Commonwealth, from one of his most grateful admirers." It was signed, "Mina." And, as usual, in the bottom right hand corner of the sketch she had worked the name, Mina, into the picture itself.

"This... this is utterly unbelievable! My God! This is..." Then he looked at Maria and said softly, "My lord! You're... Mina!"

"I hope you like it, Doctor," Maria said. "It's from my heart."

Richards appeared to be on the verge of shock. He fell more than sat in a leather lounge chair and just collapsed. "I don't believe it!" he murmured as if he was talking to himself. "I just received a sketch from one of the world's greatest living artists... Unbelievable!"

"Do... do you like it?" Maria asked diffidently.

"Like it?" he nearly screamed. "I adore it! First thing tomorrow I'm going to the best frame shop around and have it matted and framed. And it's going on my office wall as soon as it's finished."

"I'm amazed you've heard of me," Maria said softly.

"Ask my wife, Judy," Richards said. "I have two loves: art and Mark Mitchell's novels." He brightened and added, "And there's a new one due out the end of next week, too."

Jim Johnson unobtrusively left the room.

Richards continued, "What an incredible household! The world's finest chef and the world's finest artist." Then in a jocular tone he asked, "But what do the guys bring to the party?"

Instead of answering, Maria led him out to the foyer. On the wall beneath the staircase towards the back of the foyer was another Mina oil. She led Richards to it and just stood there. The painting showed two Navy first-class petty officers — Jim and Paul — in their dress white uniforms. Around each of their necks was a Navy Cross.

"Those... those medals around their necks... What are they?"

"That's the Navy Cross, the second highest award for gallantry our nation can award. And if you know your ribbons, the first on the left on the top row is the Silver Star, the third highest. There are a couple of more for bravery and then there are Purple Hearts. Jim has three, while Paul has only two. He was better than Jim at keeping his head down."

"Good grief! Two of our nation's top heroes... Unreal." But then he looked at Maria and added, "But you and Paul are Mexican, aren't you?"

Maria stiffened. "I am an American!" she said proudly.

"Mexican-American..."

"American!" she repeated emphatically with her eyes flashing. "Believe me when I tell you that Paul did not shed his blood for Mexico! He and I are Americans!"

I had followed them into the foyer, and now we all returned to the library. We found JJ feeding Missy chicken noodle soup this time. Jim had returned and was standing, waiting for us. He gave a leather-bound book to Rob and said, "Since you're a Mark Mitchell fan, this will save you a wait." With a grin he added, "Just think! You'll be the first kid on your block to own one!"

"Jim has about 100 copies of each of his books specially bound in leather," I said. "We have one of each. And if the damned guy doesn't slow down, he's going to crowd us out of our own library," I grumped.

Again, Rob Richards slumped down in an armchair. He opened the book and his eyes widened again. Jim had inscribed the book, "To Dr. Robert Richards from an admiring patient, Mark Mitchell."

Before he could say anything more, I had gone to the safe in the library and taken out a stack of currency. "Rob," I said, "to save you the expense of billing and stuff, how about if I pay you right now?"

Do you know what he did? He laughed! In fact, he began to howl with laughter. I've never been so insulted in my life... I think.

"Pay me, Catherine? Get serious! I came over to see a young girl who's malnourished but not really sick. And what do I get? I get a Mina pastel... of me! Good grief, woman, at her show a few weeks ago, the least expensive work went for $25,000! And the critics I read were unanimous: she might as well have given her works away! The only dispute among them was just how much money she left on the table." He grinned and continued, "If you don't follow the art world, you might not know this, but their estimates ranged between factors of two to five."

"What?" Maria squawked.

"That's right," Richards continued. "That means that the least-expensive painting should have — and could have — gone for between $50,000 and $125,000. So, Maria/Mina, you left a lot of money on the table."

"Damn!" Maria muttered. "Paul and I will still have to be eating beans this week. And I was so hoping to be able to afford a steak..."

"Good grief, what a remarkable household," Richards repeated. "I mentioned the cook and the artist. Now I find it also contains the nation's best-selling writer, too." Then he grinned at Maria and asked, "But what does your husband, Paul, do?"

"Oh, he's dull as ditch water," she replied blithely. "All he does is make money."

"Make money?" Rob asked. "How?"

"Oh, he does those funny things with a computer that some people — principally the NSA [National Security Agency, the communications spooks] — pay for. Last weekend, for example, he did a little something for them for a quarter of a mill." She paused and reflected for a moment. Then she added, "But I guess it was pretty complicated. The dumb thing took him almost two full hours to do."

I came back into the conversation. "Needless to say, Rob, we would appreciate it if you didn't let any of this out. We... we really sort of like our privacy."

"Of course!" he immediately replied. Then he thought for a few minutes and said, "But how do you get paid? I mean... James' publisher, Maria's paintings, all the rest... They have to be paid, so the people know who they're paying."

"No, they don't," Marty responded, coming into the conversation for the first time. "They all have accounts with Citibank in New York. They're paid by money transfers into an account number, and Citibank won't release the names on the accounts short of a court order. Then we either transfer the funds down here or invest them from up there. It works out pretty well to maintain our privacy."

Rob left us saying that it was the biggest payday of his life. He was walking out with an original Mina as well as an autographed limited-edition of Mark Mitchell's newest. He really sort of floated out the door.

As soon as he was gone, Marty went to the desk, got out her Rolodex, found a number and placed a call. I was amazed she was calling anyone; it was already after eleven. Nonetheless, the call was answered and she began to talk in a very animated fashion to whomever.

I took the opportunity to get to know our young visitor better. "Hi, sweetie," I said softly. "I hope you're willing to live with us."

"But... but where?" she asked. "I looked, and you don't even have a stable. Where would I sleep?" Then she smiled and added, "But this is the biggest house I've ever seen! It's even bigger than the stable where the women sleep while they're waiting to be fucked."

At that instant I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Clearly this girl was from the same gruesome settlement that Marty had come from. Frankly, I had already learned far more about that horror-show than I cared to know.

"Sweetie, this is a very large house. You'll have your own suite of rooms here, and I hope you're going to like it." I paused and then asked, "Do you have any family?"

"I... I don't even know who my mother is, and I'm sure — if she's even still alive — she doesn't know me."

That was all the confirmation I needed. "Sweetie, if you don't mind, my daughter Martha will be adopting you as her daughter. Then I will be your grandmother, while JJ and Jim, along with Maria and Paul, will be your aunts and uncles. Do you think you might like that?"

As I was speaking to her, Missy's eyes were lighting up. When I ended, she was wearing a multi-million candle-watt smile. "A family... Of my own... ?" Then she started to cry but managed to say, "It's so incredible... I'm just so happy!"

I took the waif in my arms and she kissed me. Her kiss was at least as powerful as the one she had given Rob, but it's effect on me was quite different. Instead of feeling dazed, it was as if she was pouring her happiness and joy through her lips into me. In an instant, I was desperately in love with the child.

"Come on, sweetie," I whispered. "You've got to be exhausted." To Jim I asked, "Could you carry Missy to the suite next to ours, please?"

Again he scooped the girl up from the sofa after wrapping the blanket around her neck and carried her upstairs. He carried her through her suite's sitting room and was about to deposit her on the bed when I realized how grimy the poor child was.

"Just stand her up, please, Jim. I think this child needs to wash up before going to bed."

He did just that and the blanket fell to the floor leaving the girl stark naked. But it didn't seem to faze her a bit. I was almost certain she wasn't even aware of her nudity. In moments I was as bare as she. Taking her hand, I led her into her private bath. Again her eyes widened.

"What is this?" Missy exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like it." Then looking up at me she asked, "Is this a palace? It really must be."

"No, sweetie. It's just our home."

I took her into the shower after grabbing a bath brush from under the vanity. I began the process of scrubbing her and washing her hair. After three soapings, as many rinsings, and two applications of conditioner, her hair was the same golden color as Marty's. Although malnourished, Missy was going to be another incredible beauty.

As I patted her body dry I asked, "How old are you, Missy?"

"I think I'm 10 years old," she replied, "but I'm not really sure."

After drying her hair, I led her back into the bedroom. Clearly Maria had been there while we were in the shower. The room's double bed had been turned down and, incredibly, there on the pillow waiting for Missy was Snuffles, an incredibly soft Gund stuffed sleeping animal. Where it had come from I have absolutely no idea, but there it was.

I tucked her in and gave her Snuffles to hold. "This is Snuffles, Missy. He wants to sleep in your arms tonight. I hope you'll let him."

The girl had been gently stroking his very soft plush. "He's so soft!" she marveled. "Who does he belong to?"

"He's your very own sleeping animal, sweetie. I'm so glad you like him."

"I love him!" she exclaimed. I was certain Snuffles was the very first toy of any kind the girl had ever had. Then she looked up at me wistfully, but didn't say anything.

I bent over, raised her head from the pillow, and unloaded the most powerful kiss I was capable of delivering. Missy just ate it up. For my part, I again felt that same flow of incredible love from the girl.

"Sweetie, your new mommy and I are right next door, okay? If you need anything, just call."

The girl was already almost sound asleep but she managed to nod.

Returning to the library, I found Marty just hanging up the phone. "Good grief!" I exclaimed, "that was a helluva phone call!"

"Oh, that was the return call," she said blithely.

"Who were you talking to?"

"The governor, of course."

"The governor!"

"Sure. If we're going to adopt Missy, we're going to need all the help we can get."

"What did he say?"

"Well..." Marty continued, "it depends..."

"On what?"

"On which call you're referring to. That was the second."

"The second?" I responded in a state of shock.

"Sure. Why the hell do you think we've been contributing to politicians? There's a real price list. What I wanted was the price of his unlisted private number — the number he always answers himself. And I'm talking about 24 and 7!"

"So what did he say?"

"On the first call, he actually thanked me for calling him. He said that, while the organization chart says that Human Services reports to him, the fact is that it's only under him. Aside from the Secretary, no one pays any attention to him; they're too busy conforming to the ideas and wishes of their professional colleagues that they meet at conferences, workshops, and so forth.

"But anyway, he was glad I called."

Just then, the phone rang, and Marty picked it up. I heard a chorus of "yes", "of course", and "thank you, so much," before she hung up.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Oh... that was the governor again." Marty grinned. I could have killed her on the spot.

I checked the time. It was nearly midnight. Good grief! The governor himself calling us at that time of night? "So tell me, what happened? And how did it happen?"

"I'll take the second question first, the 'how'." Marty grinned and asked, "Remember those political contributions you wondered about?"

I just nodded.

"Well, as I mentioned earlier, it seems like there's something akin to a price list: Various contributions obtain various levels of access, with the highest level being direct, private access to the governor... assuming your guy is elected, of course. We cover that by giving to both sides, particularly if an election looks like it might be close. Anyway, there's a certain amount of negotiation involved, and I think I'm sort of good at that, if I do say so myself. Anyway, that's where the whole string of unlisted phone numbers came from.

"I called him and told him that we wanted to adopt Missy. He was appalled at what I told him of the settlement she came from, and immediately agreed that the adoption should happen. Moreover, in his words, although Human Services report to him, they certainly don't work for him. Rather, they're most responsive to their peers in social work and to whatever is the latest-and-greatest at conferences, workshops and so forth. He said the only person in the whole damned organization he trusts is his secretary of human services; almost all the rest of the huge staff are civil servants who basically do whatever the hell they want.

"Then he called back to tell me that we have an appointment at 3:30..." Marty paused to check her watch and found it was after midnight. "... this afternoon with Judge Andrew Robbins. He had already called his secretary of human services and the judge; it's all arranged.

"The second call — the one just now — was a reminder not to say a word to anyone about this. His secretary had just called him back to tell him that if Missy got tangled with Human Services, she would likely be in a series of foster homes until she turned 18 while Human Services determined if our household was adequate to care for a small girl. He underscored that he does not want that to happen."

"Ah, yes..." I murmured, "bread cast upon the waters..." I grinned at Marty and added, "Good for you, daughter, and congratulations on becoming a mother!"

Finally we went up to bed. It had been a very eventful day.



-------

Chapter 5


There's nothing quite as nice as sleeping in the arms of a beautiful young woman. And Marty's natural scent was utterly lovely.

In the middle of the night — or very early in the morning, more accurately — I was partially awakened by a little girl standing at the foot of the bed, crying. Although all the lights in the room were out, the curtains were open and there was a lovely full moon that night. Through the fog of sleep I heard the girl whisper, "I'm scared."

Although I didn't remember it, I guess I must have lifted the girl up and put her on the bed between Marty and me. Vaguely, I noticed that she was still clutching Snuffles. In moments I was again sound asleep.

I awakened in the morning with a lovely but strange scent in my nostrils. I just lay there with my eyes still closed trying to place it, and finally I did. It was the lovely scent of spring flowers. I finally opened my eyes and realized I was sleeping on my left side and was spooned up against Missy who, in turn, was spooned up against Marty. The little girl had her hand cupping Marty's right breast and my hand was over hers.

I just couldn't resist. I pulled her golden blonde hair back from her ear and very gently kissed it. The girl wriggled against me in delight and opened her eyes.

"Good morning, ma'am," she whispered.

"Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?"

Again she gently wriggled in my arms and replied, "I've never slept any better." Then her eyes beetled and she asked, "But... but why don't you have any hair down here?" In the gentlest way possible, she stroked my bare slit.

"Do you like it?" I countered.

"It feels so utterly soft and smooth. But what does it feel like?"

"I'm sure it feels the same way you do." I checked the time and was amazed to find it was nearly eight o'clock. I guess that was the result of the late night. "Come on, sweetie. It's time to get up and get going."

I went to lift Missy out of bed, but before she would permit that, she carefully placed Snuffles against Marty's breast and pulled the covers up to her head. Only then did she reach out her arms to me. I guess I really must have been strong by that time because I was able to lift and carry her like a feather. It helped that she immediately wrapped her arms around my neck as I carried her to our bathroom.

While still in my arms, Missy looked around and gaped. "My goodness!" she exclaimed. "This... this is enormous!"

"It's fair-sized," I agreed. Putting her down on her feet, I led her into our shower. No sooner had I put her down than Marty appeared.

Clearly, Missy was far more with it that morning than she had been the night before. Furthermore, I realized, it was the first time she had ever seen Marty and me together, naked. Very gently, she reached out and fondled my tit with one hand and Marty's with the other. "You two are utterly perfect!" she pronounced. "Your skin is so soft and smooth... but you both are pretty muscular, too, aren't you?"

I glanced at Marty and was barely able to stifle a giggle. I'm pretty sure that Maria's "muscle-bound" comment from the night before had registered. Poor Marty actually looked hurt. With her eyes wide she asked, "Is it really that awful?"

"You're utterly beautiful!" Missy replied. After a pause she added, "Are... are you really going to be my mother?"

"I would certainly like to be. And that would make my mother, Cathy, your grandmother. What do you think?"

The girl's eyes widened and she asked, "Does that mean... that I can call you 'Mommy'?"

"You certainly can, and I hope you do," Martha replied.

The little girl stretched her arms upward, and Marty scooped her up. As soon as she could reach, Missy wrapped her arms around Marty's neck and really unloaded with a kiss loaded with love and joy. Clearly it affected Marty; my daughter leaned back against the shower's tiled wall and I'm sure it was to keep from falling on her face.

Finally, Missy ended her lip-lock and moved just far enough away to be able to speak. "I love you, Mommy," she whispered. "I love you so very much."

That was enough of that. Marty put Missy down and we continued our shower. From there we went to the bathtub and gently coated Missy's body with the musk oil floating on the surface. When I kissed her, my nostrils were filled with that beautiful scent of spring flowers I had smelled earlier, but now it was strongly enhanced by the reinforcing action of the musk oil.

While Marty started on her hair, I gave Missy the first massage of her life. She loved it, and so did I. I found — no surprise — that she still had knotted muscles in her shoulders and neck from the tension and fear she had been under.

When the two of us returned to the bedroom, I looked and laughed. First, there was Snuffles in the bed by itself with the covers pulled up around its neck. Obviously, that had been Marty's work when she got up. Sitting on the foot of the bed were panties, a pair of blue shorts, a T-shirt, and socks and sneakers, all apparently in Missy's sizes. I just shook my head. Obviously someone — probably Maria — had gotten up early and gone shopping so the girl would have something to wear.

Would you believe it? Marty and I actually dressed, too.

In the kitchen we found the other four members of our household dressed and waiting. JJ immediately put a plate of something on the table for Missy who began to eat. Unlike the night before, I was certain that whatever it was was suitable for a starving child.

While Missy was eating, Marty filled the others in on the events of the previous night. When she told them of our appointment with Judge Robbins at three-thirty, I said that I thought all of us should be in the courtroom together.

JJ, who was standing at the range, was wearing shorts and a crop top cut off just below her nipples like Maria's. "You mean..." she said with her eyes wide, "I'll have to wear... clothes? Yuck!" But then she grinned and added, "But for Missy, anything!"

"Thank you so much for the clothes," Missy said softly. "They're the first clothes I've ever had."

"You mean the first new clothes, don't you?" I asked.

"No, Gram. The first clothes. Back home, we weren't allowed to wear anything." Then her face fell as she added, "It got pretty tough in the winter, sometimes." After pausing she added, "That's why I got in bed between you and Mommy last night. We had to sleep together or we might freeze." Again there was a pause and she added, "Some of the kids did."

I felt like I was about to vomit.

Finishing breakfast, Marty announced that it was time for us to go shopping for Missy. She needed something nice to wear to court.

We quickly dressed and rejoined Missy downstairs. In the meantime, she had consumed more food JJ had prepared for her. The poor kid was going to spend most of her time for the first weeks with us just eating.

Jim was waiting for us by the front door. He opened it as we approached and I saw that the silver Rolls was sitting in the drive, idling. "Isn't that overdoing it, bigtime?" I asked him.

"No, Cathy, it's not. After all, you're going to buy a spring dress for Missy. But now all they're showing are summer things. Their spring clothes are long gone."

"And... ?"

"Although the stores get rid of one season's clothes before the start of the next, there are exceptions," he said. "For example, their very best and most expensive items are usually classics. Rather than put them out on clearance and get cents on the dollar, many top stores just put them away to be brought out the following year. That's what I'm counting on. Coupled, of course, with Marty's inimitable powers of persuasion."

I giggled and asked, "And how much is her 'persuasion' likely to cost?"

"You two can afford it," he replied without answering my question.

He opened the rear door of the Rolls and Marty scrambled in. She was followed by Missy and then me. I really have to say that the sound of the Rolls' rear door closing reminded me of a vault door slamming shut.

Once in the car, I found Missy looking around in utter amazement. "This is a car?" she asked, utterly bewildered.

"Don't you like it?" Marty asked.

"Of course I do!" the girl declared. "It's... it's unreal! It's just so utterly gorgeous!"

What a wonderful little girl!

Jim pulled up in front of the most exclusive — and expensive — children's wear store in Tidewater. The fact that we were in a No Parking zone didn't faze him a bit. I suppose our generous contributions to the local Patrolmen's Benevolent Association really didn't hurt.

Into the store we went with Marty — as usual — taking charge. First, she asked for the manager. When she appeared, Marty said we were looking for a lovely spring dress for Missy. Clearly, the woman was about to say that all they were showing at the time were summer items. Before she could utter a word, Marty asked, "How much would you need to start going through the spring items you've just put away to find something nice for my daughter?" As she asked the question, she had opened her purse, taken out a wad of $100 bills, and had begun slowly counting them.

The woman's eyes bugged as large as dinner plates.

"How about ten of them?" Marty asked as she fanned out the crisp new bills.

The poor woman was speechless. All she could do was nod her head which she did with increasing frequency.

"A nice spring dress for my daughter?"

"Yes, ma'am. Right away!" With that she gave orders to the other women to close the store. Since the store had just opened, there were only two other customers present. The manager gave each of them a card on their way out indicating they would get a 50% discount on their next purchase.

Again, Marty went to her purse. She counted out and fanned ten more hundreds and said, "This is to cover the store's margin on the discounts you just gave." Then she counted ten more and added, "And this is to cover for any lost business while the store is closed."

The poor manager was in a state of shock. I'm pretty sure that both payments were very substantial multiples of the real value of the discounts and the lost business. The fact is that in women's wear, the business done before the lunch hour scarcely covers the electric bill for the lighting.

Oh, well... 

Martha wasted no time. She followed the store's staff into the back room. As they went, she was telling the women what she had in mind for Missy. And speaking of Missy, she was standing close beside me just looking at all the dresses with her eyes as big as saucers. "Are there enough women alive to wear all these dresses?" she asked.

"Sweetie, it might surprise you to learn that some women have more than one dress."

"They do?" she replied, utterly amazed. "But... what for?"

I giggled. "Some women's figures really aren't too good. So they have a number of outfits to sort of cover the mess."

She just looked at me for a long moment. Clearly she was thinking about something. Then she said, "But why are you and Mommy dressed? It's not cold or anything. And your figures are utterly perfect!"

I dropped down to one knee to be able to hug her tightly. I tried to control my giggles — I didn't want her to feel badly — but at the same time, I had received a shock. Perfect figure? Me?

By that time the manager had emerged with a dress on a hanger. It was perfect! It was white with very simple lines and had two wide bands of fabric over the shoulders. On its left side there were utterly perfect embroidered spring flowers.

"Try this one, sweetie," I said. "Let's see if it looks as good on you as it does on its hanger."

In an instant Missy had shed her shorts and top and was standing there wearing only her panties and shoes. It didn't bother her at all. She slipped into the dress and it looked good but not great. The manager was looking, too. She snapped her fingers, went off, and came back with a simple cotton slip. After putting the dress on over the slip, it was perfect.

In the meantime, Marty had reappeared and had just been standing there watching. When the manager and I agreed that the dress was perfect, Marty agreed and produced what she had been holding behind her back. It was a lovely straw hat with a hatband of spring flowers that went perfectly with the trim on the dress. When she put it back on Missy's head, it framed her face perfectly. And it even had a short streamer in the back made of white grosgrain ribbon.

She led Missy over to a full-length mirror so she could see herself. When she looked in the mirror, again her eyes widened. "Good grief!" she murmured. "That girl is so pretty!"

"'That girl' is you, sweetie," Marty reassured her. "And you are simply beautiful."

It was funny, I guess. Melissa had only been with us for about 12 hours, yet already she had captured our hearts.

But that wasn't quite all. Having found the perfect dress for Missy to wear to court, Marty turned her attention to the summer dresses the store was then showing. You know what? I really wonder about Marty sometimes. It's a fact of life that women shop, while men buy. But Marty? Hah! It seemed to take her only about five minutes to go through every dress in the store's inventory. And in that time, she picked out five outfits and then added appropriate underwear and accessories. Good heavens! If word of what she had done ever leaked out, she would have been drummed out of the corps of women.

You know what else? I'm pretty sure that was the biggest payday in the store's history. And it wasn't even the Christmas rush, either.

You know how bad it was? I had to recruit Jim to help us carry the loot out of the store. And I guess it was a good thing we had taken the Rolls. I'm not sure it all would have fit in anything smaller.

Back home we went and JJ immediately sat Missy down for another meal.

Shortly before three, we reassembled in the foyer. All of the women were wearing white, but this time it was Maria who looked nervous. As you may have already gathered, she was more comfortable wearing little or nothing — preferably nothing. But she, like JJ, looked utterly stunning and I said so. The young woman visibly relaxed.

At that point Paul announced that he and Maria would be going in the Porsche. (It was a Porsche 911S, and was his pride and joy.) I put my foot down. "You will like hell!" I announced. "There's no way in hell this gorgeous woman is going to arrive in the courtroom with her hair looking like she had observed a flight test from the inside of a wind tunnel. No way! You will drive the Beamer!"

Paul pretended to look properly chastised, but you know what? Maria had the nerve to stick her tongue out at me! She really did! "I love the Porsche with the top down on a day like this."

Tough!

Marty, Missy and I rode in the back of the Rolls while JJ rode in the front beside Jim. At 3:25 we were all assembled in Judge Robbins' courtroom, and precisely at 3:30 he appeared from his chambers. Because it was an informal hearing, there was neither a bailiff nor a court stenographer present.

When he opened the proceedings, Missy was standing closest to the bench with Marty and me behind her, and the other four in a row behind us.

"Good afternoon, Melissa," the judge said. Then he smiled warmly and added, "You're looking simply lovely this afternoon. Is that a new dress you're wearing?"

"Yes, sir, it is. My mommy bought it for me this morning," she replied guilelessly. "Don't you think it's pretty? I do."

"It's a perfect dress for a perfect girl. And the hat looks so lovely with it, too."

Missy just beamed.

"I spoke with Dr. Richards this morning, and he filled me in on this case and this girl's physical condition. All I can say is that if she has any parents, they've forfeited any right to her custody." Then looking at Marty and me he asked, "Miss Smith?"

I grinned and replied, "That's a bit of a problem, Your Honor. Both my daughter and I are 'Miss Smith.' But since she's the one who would like to adopt Melissa, I'm sure she's the one you mean. I'm Catherine Smith and my daughter is Martha Stone Smith."

"Then you will be this girl's grandmother, won't you." He paused and then added, "I could not imagine a younger or more beautiful grandmother, either."

I think I blushed at that one, but it certainly did wonderful things for my ego.

"Martha Stone Smith, is it your wish to adopt Melissa as your daughter?"

"It certainly is, Your Honor!"

"Well, then, it all comes down to you, Melissa. Would you like to be Miss Smith's daughter?"

"More than anything in this world, sir," Missy fervently replied. "Already I'm calling them Mommy and Gram. And it's really a wonderful feeling, sir." She paused and then continued, "It's not just them, either. Just think! Not only am I getting a mother and a grandmother, I'm also getting two aunts and two uncles, too. I haven't been with them for even a full day yet, but I love them so, already." With her eyes wide she added, "Please, sir?"

"The adoption of Melissa by Martha Stone Smith is so ordered," he intoned.

I could hear the sighs of relief from everyone when the judge uttered those words. The last item of business was the judge ordering a birth certificate to be issued for Melissa Smith with a date of birth being June 10th, and the place of birth being Norfolk.

"If it please the court... ?" Marty began.

"Did I forget something?" the judge asked with a warm smile.

"Your Honor, could you amend the birth certificate to show her name as Melissa Catherine Smith? She takes her grandmother's name as her middle name."

Missy utterly beamed and I was stunned. Good grief! I now had a granddaughter... named after me! How utterly neat!

"It is so ordered," Judge Robbins said with a grin.

"Thank you, sir," Missy said softly. Then she amazed us all. After moving closer to the bench, she held out an arm and said softly, "May the Lord bless you and keep you. May He make His light to shine upon you. And may you live a long, happy and prosperous life until you join Him in Heaven, forever. Amen."

I'm certain it was just a trick of lighting, but when she said, "... make His light to shine upon you," a beam of light shined directly on the judge's head, and the warmest smile appeared on his face.

No one said a word.

Then the judge said, "You know, as a jurist, often I have to do things I would rather not do. Furthermore, given the nature of what we do, it's impossible to keep from second-guessing oneself. But this afternoon, I'm truly pleased. I am absolutely certain that this adoption was exactly the right thing to do.

"And, with all due regard to the separation of church and state, I feel that my decision has just been endorsed by the Very Highest Authority.

"Go with God, Melissa, and be happy. Heaven knows, you deserve it."

On the way home I asked Missy why she had run away. I could think of at least a dozen excellent reasons, but I was curious to learn what she would say.

"I... I wanted to go to school," she said softly. "I know that women are only for making babies, but couldn't I know some things, too?"

I didn't think that was either the time or the place to point out the myriad accomplishments of Marty, JJ and Maria. So I just dropped it.



-------

Chapter 6


Missy appeared at our home in late March. She immediately — and inadvertently — turned the household upside down.

In the first place, she rapidly put on weight until she was where Rob Richards thought she should be. And, in the process, she became the greatest living fan of JJ's cooking. Whatever JJ prepared, Melissa loved. And since JJ just adored cooking... 

I found a phonics-based course in teaching reading. Missy burned through that entire course with a speed not to be believed.

But that wasn't all. It took no time at all for her to learn of our exercise regimen. And in spite of the fact that at the beginning she wasn't much more than skin and bones, she insisted on doing the same exercises we did. Martha bought more exercise machines scaled to her smaller size, and off she went.

Our nudity around the house not only didn't bother her, in a curious way it was reassuring to her. After all, it was all she had ever experienced prior to coming to live with us.

Finally, since everyone (except me) had duties around the house, Missy insisted on that, too. She began working on the gardens and grounds with Paul. It was funny, really. You may have heard of people talking to plants? Well, apparently Missy did. She never told us what she said, but we could see her around the flowers talking softly. And you know what? They honest-to-God seemed to respond. While she was talking to them, they seemed to stand up straighter and taller, and their colors seemed to become even more vivid. At the same time, she would walk all around the grounds seeming to dare a weed to show its ugly head. As far as I could tell, there never were any.

Then one day I received a surprise. There was a truck-mounted crane on the sidewalk in front of the house and it was being used to disassemble the front fence.

I guess this is something I omitted. While the house was being rebuilt, Martha had made arrangements for the front. In the first place, all overhead utility wires had been buried so that nothing obstructed the view of the house. In the second place, the whole sidewalk had been replaced. Formerly, it was asphalt, the cheapest sidewalk possible. Now it was brick, set edgewise in a herringbone pattern and set on rock and sand excavated down a number of feet. It was really lovely and very much in keeping with the house.

Along the lot-line at the front was a brick-based fence. The brickwork rose about a foot above the ground and it was topped by a wrought-iron fence that rose another two-and-a-half feet. The iron fence sections were about eight feet wide and were held between brick columns, appropriately spaced.

When the house had been redone, the fence was, too. Now, though, instead of crumbling brickwork, the fence was now brick-faced reinforced concrete set deep into the ground. What were formerly brick columns were now brick-faced reinforced concrete posts with stainless-steel eyebolts used to support the wrought iron. For some reason, though, although everything else had been replaced, the wrought iron portion had just received a coat of paint. Quite honestly it was dramatically below the standard of everything else.

But when I asked Marty what was going on, she just replied airily that it was a little thing that Maria and Missy were working on. And, for some reason, I let it go at that. It was interesting, though, to see that great care was being taken with the iron sections. The back of the truck had been fitted with racks into which each section was carefully placed to ensure that no section came in contact with any of the others.

And so it stayed for a few days. Then Missy asked if I could drive Maria and her to the shop where the fence sections were being worked on. I didn't really see what I was needed for — maybe she just wanted me to have something to do — but what the hell? Off we went in the Beamer.

When we arrived, I found all the iron sections in various stages of finish. Large-scale sand-blasting equipment was being used to take off all the finish from the last section, while other sections had already received at least two coats of primer. They were apparently waiting for us before applying the finish coats.

The two girls went over every inch of the section that had just been sand-blasted to ensure that the iron was completely clean. It was. But then they concentrated on the center of the piece, and I went over to see what they were doing.

I received quite a surprise. In the center of each section was an oval about eight inches wide by about five inches high. Obviously, whatever it was had been there from the beginning, but I had never noticed it before. On the oval was an image of some kind.

When I reached them, Missy had just asked Maria what she thought. Maria had been studying an oval with a magnifying glass. "All I can say, honey, is that you have incredibly sharp eyes. There's no sign of these icons ever having been done in color. Furthermore, over the years the images were essentially filled in with paint, so they were lost."

"But what is it?" I asked.

"It's something Missy found... or thought she did," Maria replied. Then she grinned and added, "On these icons is the whole darned Battle of Yorktown. The first shows the British taking up positions on the York River. A couple of the later ones even show the Battle of the Chesapeake Capes when the French drove off the British fleet that was coming to relieve Cornwallis. And the last icon shows the British surrender.

"Isn't it fabulous? The whole thing was done less than 60 years after the battle, and you know what's really funny?"

"What?"

"The ironwork was produced in England," Maria responded. "Golly... I wonder what the workmen making these sections thought?"

"I think it's wonderful, but now what?" I asked.

"You'll see, Gram," Missy replied. Then she produced a stack of what appeared to be oval pieces of paper. It turned out that they were masks she and Maria had made to cover the icons before the finish coats of black paint were to be applied. In just a few minutes the two of them had covered all the icons and I got to see the finish coats put on. It was really quite interesting. They put electrified wire clips on a fence section and it seemed to have the effect of magnetizing the fence with respect to paint. A worker started spraying with a spray gun and it was possible to see the paint going one way and then being pulled back toward the fencing. Fascinating!

A few days later, the same truck reappeared and carefully placed the iron sections in a part of the garage that wasn't being used. And I learned something else about the girls' attention to detail: I learned that the two of them had spent weeks trying to determine the correct shade of red to use on the British uniforms. You won't believe what they did: They managed to find a British woolen factory that had actually produced uniforms for the army. And, somehow, they had been able to persuade someone there to go into old storerooms on a search that ultimately turned up a bolt of cloth dating from the turn of the 19th century in British Army red. The girls had a large piece cut from close to the end of the bolt so it had never been exposed to light from the day its dye had dried. It might not have been the exact shade of red, but there was no one alive in a position to argue.

When the two finished their work, they even capped each icon with a very shallow dome of plastic that had been formulated to filter out ultra-violet light, which could fade the colors. Again, the crane truck appeared and the fence sections were put back in place. When they finished, the rest of us walked from end to end, and it was so exciting! There, in bas relief, was the entire Battle of Yorktown fought just a few miles away from where we were standing. It was just so neat!

But you know what? Nothing was said to anyone outside of our family. And in spite of the vivid colors — the British red, the French white, and the American blue — no one seemed to notice. Just as well.

Now it was June and Missy's birthday. By then, she was back to normal and a raving beauty. Looking at her, it was apparent that she would be her mother's twin. In just a few short months, she had grown two inches and appeared to be on her way to her mother's five feet ten, or very close to it.

For the occasion of her birthday, the whole family ate in the dining room for a change. And JJ really outdid herself, too. The dinner was utterly spectacular and ended with a magnificent birthday cake. Melissa was so excited and happy, I thought she would burst. When dinner was finished, we all adjourned to the library for Missy to open her birthday presents.

To say she appreciated her gifts would be the understatement of the year. She was ecstatic, and her joy permeated the whole room. Everyone got the warmest feeling as the gifts were opened. I'm not sure she even noticed, but there were none of significance from either Marty or me. As she was coming to the end, Marty disappeared. Then, when Missy thought it was all over, Marty reappeared leading two giant gray German Shepherds. Both were quite young and not yet fully grown.

"Sweetie," Marty said softly, "Gram and I wanted you to have something to look after you and keep you out of trouble. So this is Prince and this is Duke. They're your dogs."

Missy was utterly speechless. Then she started to cry, but reached out toward Prince. The dog moved close and Missy just hugged and kissed him. Then she did the same thing with Duke. From that instant, they were her dogs. There was just a two-way flow of love.

But that was just the beginning. It was the most remarkable thing any of us had ever seen. Missy would be sitting on a chair with the two dogs sitting on their haunches in front of her. Their ears were cocked forward and they appeared to be hanging on every word. We never learned what Missy said to them, but she never had to tell either of them a second time to do or not do anything. Any word of hers was Divine Writ as far as the dogs were concerned.

Electrically-operated doors were installed by the front and back doors. The dogs had tiny radios in their collars so that the doors would open and close automatically for them. No one ever had to let them in or out. I guess they had leashes — I think Marty had them on leashes when she brought them into the library — but they were never used again. When she took them for walks — which both she and the dogs loved — one would walk in front of her while the other one stayed beside. If she wanted the dog to turn, she would just tell it so, and that was that.

The most interesting thing was the dogs hated ever to let Missy out of their sight. When JJ had beef rib bones for them, they would only accept them if Missy gave them permission each time. Then they would take them to the hearth in the library and each take a corner of it while they chewed on their bones. But Missy had to stay in the room with them. If she left, regardless of how much dogs love beef ribs, they would leave their bones and follow her.

And at night, both dogs slept in her room. Periodically, they would go downstairs, check around the house to make sure that everything was secure, and then return to her room. Since the two were each about 150 pounds, or about double Missy's weight, it's fair to say that she was very safe indeed.

So it went with us home-schooling Missy.

Oh, yes... One more thing: several times there were workmen in the house for some reason. Once it was a plumber, and another time it was a guy working on our satellite dish. Each time, one of the dogs kept an eye on him. And each of the times I'm thinking about, the dog went after Paul. He followed the dog back and found the workman installing something that was unwanted. In one case it was a tiny TV camera, while in another it was a microphone feeding a tiny radio transmitter. Someone was very interested in us, and we wanted to know who.

Since Jim and Paul can be very persuasive, we quickly learned that each had been hired by Prudence Parker, whoever the hell she might be. It was quite awhile before I found out.

Then one night in late November, I was routed out of bed by the clamorous ring of the telephone. As I grabbed it, I saw Marty jumping out of bed, grabbing a robe and dashing out.

A word about our telephones: They have three distinct rings, two quiet and melodious rings indicating whether the call is from inside or outside, and a clamorous ring for emergencies. I was awakened by its clamorous ring.

"Yes?" I muttered.

It was Jim. "We have a problem in the library, Cathy. You had better come at once."

After grabbing another short terry robe, I dashed down the stairs. In the library I found the others along with a man dressed all in black face down on the carpet with both his arms and legs outstretched. Prince was on the floor in front of him with his muzzle not a foot away from the intruder and with his hackles raised. As I entered, the man moved a fraction of an inch and instantly Prince let out a frightening growl. That ended the movement.

Jim and Paul were both present wearing slacks and sweatshirts. Missy, naked, as usual, was also there with Duke beside her. She was patting Duke as she looked at me wide-eyed and asked, "They didn't do anything wrong, did they, Gram?"

"No, darling! Your furry friends couldn't have done better. They're guard dogs and they were guarding our home... and doing a very fine job of it, too."

"Honey, I think you'd better get a robe," Jim said softly. "The police will be here at any moment."

Off she dashed with Duke bounding along behind her. Those dogs just never wanted Missy out of their sight.

A few minutes later, she was back wearing a lovely white quilted robe with tiny embroidered flowers on it. She was wriggling her body, so Maria started clipping off the store tags that were scratching her. It was so like Maria: She did dozens of things every day to make our lives more pleasant, but almost invariably, as that night, she did them unobtrusively and without saying a word.

At that point I saw flashing blue lights in the front windows and moments later the doorbell rang. Jim was there to open it and ushered in two uniformed officers, and moments later, two more.

What followed was funny. One of the officers went to cuff the intruder's hands behind his back but found that the man was essentially catatonic; he was frozen in position and the policeman couldn't move his arms.

"What happened?" one of the officers asked. It was a general question, not aimed at anyone in particular.

"It was my dogs, sir," Missy replied diffidently. "They sleep in my room, but often they'll get up and check the house. I guess they found this man here." She paused and added, "I think one of them might have bitten him." Then with her eyes wide she added, "They're not in trouble, are they, sir?"

The officer, who I gathered was the senior in the group, looked closely at Missy for the first time. She was utterly adorable. I had purchased the robe for her, but as you learned, she had never before worn it. But she was utterly beautiful in it.

"Of course not, sweetie," he replied. "They're guard dogs doing what they're trained to do: guarding your home. Who trained them, by the way? I've never seen a pair as well-behaved as these two."

"I did, sir. At least I tried to."

At that point a couple of plainclothes detectives arrived, one of whom was a detective sergeant, who took over the case. When he noticed that the intruder wasn't cuffed, the officer explained that the man was frozen stiff. The detective tried to move the man's arm and found that the officer was right. He looked around and noticed that both Jim and Paul had .44 magnums in their hands. He whistled softly and said, "There's more than enough firepower in the room. I think you could safely call off your dog. Maybe then we might be able to get this lug to move."

"Okay, Prince," Missy said softly.

Instantly the dog was off the floor and beside my granddaughter. She scratched him behind the ear and the animal made that wonderfully happy sound deep in his body; he loved it.

One of the officers produced a small box and said, "For two wonderful dogs like these, I have Snausages!"

Instantly both pairs of ears perked up and they looked longingly at Missy. "Okay, guys. You were very good, so you can each have one of the officer's Snausages."

Immediately they were sitting on their haunches in front of the officer, just looking up at him. When he produced a dog treat, each dog took his from the officer's hand very carefully. "Good heavens! We didn't know the half of it, did we? The instant the dogs heard 'Snausage', their ears perked up; they knew exactly what they are. But they didn't move a muscle until the girl told them it was okay. Then they came over and sat as politely as could be." He looked at Missy and added, "Young lady, you just might be the world's finest dog trainer. And, I might add, those dogs utterly adore you."

"And they can't stand to have Missy out of their sight," I interjected. "If we go out for the evening, the two dogs just camp by the door waiting for her to return. And they're utterly joyous when she does."

Meanwhile the second detective had gone through the burglar's pockets and found a set of car keys. "Hmm..." he muttered, "I wonder where the car is that these keys fit?"

"The dogs could find it, sir, if you would like," Missy offered.

He immediately agreed, and Missy quietly told the dogs to find where the burglar had come from. Off they went and out their electric door. The rest of us followed. Duke went around the side of the house — the burglar had jimmied a window after bridging the alarm wires — to where the man had entered. Then he went in a straight line toward our front wall, leaped over it and started trotting up the street. I had noticed a footprint in the flower bed on the house side of the wall and noted that Duke had been very careful not to step anywhere where the burglar might have left a footprint.

We followed Duke up the sidewalk and I realized my feet were freezing. Both Missy and Marty were barefoot, and I was reminded that neither of them had worn shoes for the first ten years of their lives. I guess their feet were still tough but mine weren't. Again it was Maria who produced a pair of slippers for me as well as a warm coat.

Up the street we found Duke standing beside a locked car. It was funny, really. There in the back seat was a stack of things that turned out to be the loot from a burglary earlier in the evening. The burglar had carefully locked his car lest someone steal his things. After all, he had stolen them fair and square.

The detectives made only a cursory inspection, being careful not to touch anything that might carry the man's fingerprints. (His prints turned out to be all over the items.) "Well," one of them remarked, "that was fast. This stuff was reported stolen less than 30 minutes ago; another burglary team is at the other house right now."

When we returned to the house, the burglar had recovered enough to be able to sit up and one of the officers who had stayed with him had cuffed him. The detective sergeant had read the man his rights and had started to question him. But before he could say anything — particularly that he had nothing to say — Missy asked, "Is there anything you'd like to know? Like to whom he was planning on fencing this stuff, for example?"

The detective was stunned by her question. "How do you know about fences?" he asked. But before she could reply, he continued, "Never mind. If we could get his fence, it would put a lot of thieves and burglars out of business."

"Prince," Missy said softly, "do you think you could get this man to tell us who his fence is?" Although she spoke softly, she made sure her voice was loud enough for the burglar to hear.

Again Prince dropped to a crouch, his hackles came up and he began to growl. You know what? That was a fearsome sound to me, and I'm sure it was frightening to the man less than a foot away from Prince's very powerful jaws.

The man began to talk so fast, he was babbling. But in the babble was not only the name of the fence, but the location where the guy kept his hottest items, those that had been so well publicized that he wouldn't be able to plead ignorance that they were stolen.

One of the detectives had a tape recorder running, while the other said a few words to a uniformed officer who nodded and left the house.

Before the crook had finished talking, the uniformed officer returned with a doggie bag from the top steak house in the area. He gave the bag to the detective. By this time, the burglar had run down completely and had been taken away for arraignment.

"Could we offer you some coffee before you go?" I asked.

"That would be wonderful," the detective replied. "But while we're waiting, I have a couple of rib bones for two wonderful dogs who certainly deserve a treat."

Hearing the words, the two dogs' ears immediately perked up. They looked longingly at Missy. "You've been very good tonight," she praised them, "so you may have your reward. You may each have a bone."

It was a repeat of the Snausage episode. They sat in front of the detective and carefully took a beef rib bone each. They both had a lot of meat still on them. After taking the bones, the two went to opposite corners of the hearth in the library and began to work on them. But, the detective noticed, even while eating, both dogs would frequently check to ensure that Missy was still in sight.

JJ came out with coffee and a small platter of Christmas cookies. They were butter cookies but each was individually decorated and there were dozens of different shapes. The senior detective took a bite, did a double-take, and studied the cookie in his hand carefully. Then he looked closely at the cookies still on the platter.

"These are the finest cookies I've ever tasted," he pronounced. "But they're so beautiful. Did you bake them?" he asked JJ.

"I baked them," she admitted, "but the decorations were done by Missy and Maria. Don't you think they're nice?"

"'Nice' isn't the word. 'Magnificent' is pretty good, as is 'unique.' Good grief! If you sold them, you could get five dollars apiece." Then he looked at JJ again and his eyes widened. "But... but... you're Jane J, aren't you? My wife never misses a show. But what on earth are you doing here?"

"I live here," JJ replied softly, "and I'm the family's cook."

Only then did he look around the library carefully. Then to me he said, "You really have it made. Not only is this the most beautiful home I've ever seen, your meals are prepared by one of the world's finest chefs."

"I would show you my kitchen," JJ said, "but if you've seen my show, you've seen the kitchen. The one of the show duplicates this one, but this one was built first."

He just shook his head and softly whistled.

Missy rejoined the conversation. "Sir, is the Patrolmen's Benevolent Association still receiving contributions?"

Since I recalled seeing a fund-raising appeal just a few days earlier, I already knew the answer to that one.

"Yes, we are, Melissa. But why do you ask?"

She had left the room shortly before and had returned with her checkbook. "I would like to make a contribution, sir. Could I just give it to you and save the postage?"

"I would be happy to accept it," he replied with a warm smile.

The smile was quickly replaced with a look of shocked amazement when he looked at the check. He was speechless.

"It's good," I said quietly.

"But it's made out for—"

"It's good," I interrupted, "as long as it's for less than ten million." I paused and then added, "How much did she make it for, by the way?"

"It's for five... thousand... dollars!"

"That's Missy's way of saying thank you, and I hope you'll accept it. And, by the way, while we're saving on postage, may I give you the family's contribution, too?"

All he could do was nod.

I gave him a check for $50,000.

"This is marvelous!" he breathed. "We're helping some families of officers injured in line of duty, and we've been pretty stretched out. This generous gift will take care of them all, and thank you so much."

He had continued to study Missy's check, though. "Where does Melissa go to school?" he asked.

"The family home-schools her. We're trying to get her up to speed with the rest of her age group."

"Up to speed?" he replied. "You've got to be kidding! Her penmanship is simply beautiful. And I can't remember ever meeting a more polite young lady. Police officers aren't the most popular people with many of the youth today, so meeting your daughter really makes my day."

"She's my granddaughter," I said with a smile. "Melissa is my daughter's daughter."

"Your... granddaughter? That's impossible! Frankly, I didn't think you were even old enough for her to be your daughter, but some girls have babies pretty young, so I thought... But your granddaughter? Impossible!"

Marty hadn't said much, but now she said, "Mom, I think I'm insulted."

"Impossible!" he repeated. "Unless you gave birth at the age of nine. (I mentally cringed at that comment.)"

Marty grinned and asked, "How old do you think I am, anyway?"

"I would guess about 19," the detective replied. "And this beauty who claims to be your mother can't be over 25. For that matter," he added, "I haven't met a member of this household who's even close to reaching 30."

"It's all my cooking," JJ announced smugly. "It keeps the folks looking young."

"Thank you for the compliment," I added, "but I'm way over on the shady side of 30. But thanks again."

He looked from one of us to the others. Then he asked, "Would you three mind sitting side by side on the sofa?" We did. He just shook his head and said, "Unbelievable! I've never seen such a strong family resemblance among three women. Most particularly, your eyes are identical. And they're the most brilliant blue I've ever seen." He blushed and added, "With those short robes you're wearing, it's also clear that you have the most perfect pairs of legs I've ever seen, too. All three of you are stunningly beautiful!"

I kissed Missy first and then Marty. Frankly, they really weren't very motherly — or grandmotherly — kisses. But I could feel their love and I think they could feel mine, too.

The police finally left, and Marty and I stumbled off to bed. It was so late that all we could do was snuggle. Lovemaking that night was more than either of us could handle.

Later, I thought back on that week as our Public Safety Week. The next day Martha had a couple of appointments at the bank, so Melissa asked if I would go with her to the local fire station. I was pretty sure I knew what was on her mind. A short time before the department had suffered a tragedy when two firefighters were killed when the wall of a burning building collapsed on top of them. Both were married; one had a single child while the other had two. In follow-up stories we learned that neither had even been scheduled for duty when they were killed. Both had been working extra hours in order to be able to save for their children's education.

Since it was only a short distance away and the day was sunny and cool, I thought we could walk, so walk we did, accompanied as you would expect by Prince and Duke.

The local fire house housed a ladder company. The men, as usual, were working on their equipment outdoors when we arrived and I asked for the senior officer present. That turned out to be a captain. When I explained that my granddaughter wanted to see him, I got an instant reprise of the detective the night before. Like the detective, he didn't think I was old enough to be Missy's mother, let alone her grandmother.

Oh, well... 

Missy began, "Sir, I understand that there's a special fund to benefit the families of the two firemen who were killed on duty. I would like to make a contribution."

I'm sure the captain was thinking of some change, or a dollar or two, but that's not what happened. Missy pulled out her checkbook and explained, "I would have written out a check earlier, but I didn't know to whom I should make it payable." The captain looked skeptical, but gave her the name of the fund. She wrote the check for $10,000 and gave it to him.

"Before you ask, it's good," I assured him. "Missy has money of her own."

Then it was my turn. In spite of an impression I may have left with you, I'm not totally helpless. I had previously made a few calls and had a letter with me in my purse. "I understand that the men's primary concern was being able to provide a college education for their children. Is that correct?

The officer, Captain Harris, we had learned, just nodded but looked puzzled.

"Captain Harris, I have here a letter from the Dean of Admissions of the University of Virginia at Charlottesville. Assuming satisfactory completion of their academic work through high school, four years of college as well as any post-graduate or professional schools the children might wish to attend have been prepaid. The letter provides all the details. May I give it to you?"

He was utterly stunned. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm utterly bowled over. And if you'll forgive me, I didn't get your name when you first introduced yourself."

"My apologies for not speaking more clearly. I'm Catherine Smith, and I live in that old house on High Street that was recently rebuilt."

At that point, Harris raised his voice to speak to his men. "We're out of the woods! This woman, Catherine Smith, has just paid for the entire education of those three kids! And... and her granddaughter has just given us $10,000 for the families!"

While the members of the fire company were looking on in stunned amazement, Missy piped up, "That isn't quite all..."

Her words caused Harris's head to jerk around.

"In conjunction with the Marine Corps Reserve, aren't you conducting your annual Toys for Tots campaign?"

Harris just slowly nodded.

"That's good!" Missy exclaimed. "I don't have any toys to donate, but I do have a contribution." This time her check had already been made out, and again it was for $10,000.

Before he could respond, I added, "My daughter and I also wish to support that effort, and here is our check." It was for $50,000.

The poor captain was in a state of shock. "My God!" he breathed. "This is unreal!" Then raising his voice he told his men, "We just got sixty... thousand...  dollars!"

Then to Missy he asked the key question. "But why... ?"

"Until a few months ago," she said softly, "I had never seen a toy, let alone had one. And they're really awfully nice and a lot of fun to play with. So I thought some other children might be able to have a nicer Christmas." She paused and then added apologetically, "I didn't buy toys to bring over... Quite honestly, I don't think I could carry $10,000 worth. But if you don't mind? And I'm sure you have a better idea of what sort of toys the children might want than I do, so..."

By this time, the whole fire company had gathered closely around us. (And both Prince and Duke had muzzled their way in to be beside their beloved Missy.) Captain Harris said, "Guys, this is going to be the best damned Christmas for the kids in history! And it's all due to these two wonderful women."

Then to me he said, "If there's anything you ever need from this fire company, just ask. You are a real friend to firefighters everywhere."

Two things happened as a result of that. First, the state's top fire marshals came out to the house on their own time to go over the place top to bottom. I'm happy to say they were delighted with what they found. As they were leaving the senior said, "In terms of fire safety, this is the best house I've ever seen or heard of. If every home was built like this, there would be no residential house fires."

Second, in early December a giant bucket truck rolled up. I was told that the bucket could reach 100 feet. At any rate, supervised by Maria and Missy, they hung lights on our trees and on the house. It was utterly beautiful when they were finished.

They wouldn't accept anything from us, not even our thanks.



-------

Chapter 7


It was in mid-December when I received a rather strange call from Judge Andrew Robbins. He asked if he could come over to see us the following morning. Of course, I immediately said yes. He indicated that he wanted to check on his favorite young woman, Melissa. But from the sound of his voice, I didn't think it was merely a social call.

When he told me there would be two of them coming, I asked if they would plan to join us for luncheon, and he immediately agreed.

At ten o'clock the following morning, we heard the crunch of gravel out front, and Jim — now James since he was wearing his butler's uniform — was there to open the door and welcome our guests. Marty and I were sitting side by side on the sofa in the library — we even had a lovely fire burning since it was a very raw morning — while we awaited our guests.

"Judge Robbins and Robin," James announced as he closed the door behind him.

Marty and I were on our feet to greet our guests. I was wearing a simple wool dress in Christmas green — it looked good with my silver hair — while Marty was wearing the same dress in red.

After exchanging pleasantries, I asked, "Since you're interested in checking on Melissa — although we mostly call her Missy — why don't we go up and see her? She's in her suite."

Something was a bit odd. In the first place, Robin had never been identified, although there was a sort of indication that she might have been Andrew Robbins' wife. But that didn't seem quite right, either, because he almost appeared to be on tenterhooks. Oh, well... Robin was also a tall woman — about five feet eight — with tawny hair, green eyes, and a very good figure. Her body appeared to be well-toned as if she got regular workouts. I guessed her age to be early 40s. One thing I noticed was the care with which Robin was looking around the library. I could tell that she was very impressed.

I led the way up the curved stairway. "This is so utterly beautiful!" Robin remarked. "It's so reminiscent of Tara in Gone With the Wind."

"Thank you," I replied. "It duplicates the home's original and uses a lot of the original stairway, in fact. But unlike the original, this one uses structural steel and is considered to be fireproof."

"Indeed? An old house like this is fireproof?"

I told her about the fire marshals' inspection and their findings. She was most impressed.

The door to Missy's sitting room was open, and we just looked in from the doorway. She was sitting on her typing chair while Prince and Duke were sitting on their haunches with their muzzles side by side on her lap. Both dogs' ears were cocked, and we could hear Missy talking to them softly, although we couldn't make out the words. At that point, she raised her voice slightly and we could hear her say, "Guys, Judge Robbins is going to be visiting today, and he's very important to me. He's the wonderful man who allowed me to be adopted by Mama and made all of my happiness possible. You're both going to be on your very best behavior, aren't you?"

Two tails thumped the carpet. I took that as an affirmative response.

Missy did, too. "I just knew it!" she exclaimed. "You two are simply perfect!" Again the two tails thumped the carpet, and I could see the dogs basking in their mistress's praise.

I knocked on the door and Missy spun around in her chair. The two dogs moved away so she could stand up and greet us. I was shocked to see that her eyes were red; she had been crying.

She ran to Judge Robbins and gave him a big kiss. Then she shook hands with Robin. I may be prejudiced, but I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She was wearing a Christmas-red pinafore along with a white blouse with holly and berries embroidered on it. Her golden hair just glistened.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Marty asked. "You look like you've been crying."

"I just finished this book, Mama," she replied. It was Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. "The ending... 'It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done... ' It was just so beautiful!"

"You read Tale of Two Cities?" Robin asked. I could hear the incredulity in her voice.

"I started it last night," Missy replied, "and I really couldn't put it down."

"But that's a very difficult book," Robin pointed out.

"It's much easier than Shakespeare, though. The language is much more modern. But I really love Shakespeare! Portia's 'quality of mercy... "The quality of mercy is not strained. It falls as the gentle rain from heaven..."' It's just so beautiful! And in Henry V when Hal addresses his troops on the eve of the battle of Agincourt..."

"Good grief! You've actually read those works?"

Missy just nodded her head, looking a bit bewildered. Robin was utterly amazed.

At that point, Missy told the dogs to stay while she showed our visitors around her suite. If I hadn't mentioned it before, Maria was responsible for much of the decorating, particularly in the new rooms. Missy's room was perfectly done. It was feminine without being cutesy or overdone. Robin oohed and aahed over the four-poster double bed with its canopy and was dumbstruck by Missy's private bath.

I was pleased. The fact is that while Maria is our maid, her cleaning is confined to light dusting and occasional vacuuming. For the rest of it, she supervises the work of a commercial cleaning crew that comes twice a week as well as on request, when needed. After receiving Judge Robbins' call, I decided they were needed, and they did their usual job: Everything was spotless and I had to admit that Missy's bathroom truly glistened. I was impressed, but far more importantly, Robin was impressed, too.

We went downstairs with the dogs padding along after us. When we were in the foyer, I had an idea. "There's something outside you folks might like to see." In the intervening time, the clouds had moved away, the sun by then was shining brightly and the temperature had climbed to about 60.

Leading the way outside, I led the way out to the sidewalk and down to the first section of our wrought-iron fence. I noted that the two dogs had taken position guarding Missy from both directions. Moreover, I noticed that Robin had noted it, too.

"This is a project Missy did herself, with help from Maria. Our sweetheart has very sharp eyes. Although this iron fence had been painted more times than anyone could estimate with the result that these bas reliefs had been buried under paint, Missy thought there was something interesting under it all. This is what she found," I noted, pointing to the first image. "She researched everything and did the icons in colors which, we believe, were correct for the period."

Robin got to her knees and studied the first image closely. "Is... is this what I think it is? Cornwallis at Yorktown?"

"If you look at them in sequence," Marty noted, "you'll see the whole series of events beginning with Cornwallis taking up positions on the York River, the Franco-American siege, to the Battle of the Capes, to his ultimate surrender. What do you two think?"

Slowly we made our way down the length of the fence with Robin and Robbins studying each image carefully.

When we reached the end, Robin stood up and murmured, "Wow! This is utterly priceless! And it's been here all the time?"

"Yes, it has," I responded. "Missy and Maria determined that the images had never been done in color. From the beginning, the fence was all-over black. Doing the images in color was Missy's idea."

"What do the passers-by say?" Judge Robbins asked.

Marty giggled and replied, "I'm not sure anyone has ever even noticed. They're less than three feet off the ground, and people tend not to notice things substantially below their sight line. I don't know if anyone has, but we do know that no one has mentioned them to us nor to anyone we know."

"Do you mean to tell us that this young girl did this all by herself?"

Marty and I just nodded in unison.

"What an incredible talent!" Robin exclaimed. "But where did she get her art training?"

By this time we had returned to the house and were back in the library. Maria, wearing a sweater and skirt, had taken up a position in an easy chair along with her omnipresent sketch pad.

"Oh, Maria coaches her from time to time," Marty airily replied.

"But... I thought Maria was your maid?"

"She is," I admitted, "and every once in a while, she'll wave a cloth in the direction of the dust. But not very often, though."

Without looking up from her sketch pad, Maria stuck out the tip of her tongue.

But Marty took exception. "The hell she does!" she protested. "There's no dust for her to wave at."

"No dust?" Robin asked. "How can that be? There's dust everywhere."

"But not here. Do you see any? I certainly don't."

Robin looked around the room carefully and slowly shook her head.

"It's our air system," Marty explained. "It's modeled on the ones we use in nuclear submarines. Air is filtered, deodorized, sterilized, oxygen is even added sometimes, and it's ionized. It's the ionization that gives it an almost clean smell."

"Good grief!" Robin exclaimed. "With a system like that, your electric bill must be astronomic!"

Marty just shook her head and explained about our gas well and gas turbine generators.

Robin's eyes got to be as big as saucers while Marty was explaining our system and she ended by murmuring, "Wow!

"But you said Maria helps Melissa with her art. Has she had art training?"

"A little," I admitted. "But she's really very good."

At that point Maria rose from her chair and retrieved her spray can of fixer. As soon as she finished and was waving the pastel in the air to dry it, James announced that luncheon was served. As we moved toward the dining room, Maria gave her picture to Robin.

The woman just stopped dead in her tracks and gasped. "This... this... this is a... Mina! My Lord!" Then she looked at Maria and said in a hushed and reverent tone, "You're... Mina?"

Maria just shrugged and headed for the kitchen while the rest of us proceeded into the dining room. Robin was still in a state of shock. When we were seated, she glared at me and said, "'A little art training, ' indeed!" Then to Robbins she asked, "Do you follow the art world?"

"I'm afraid I don't," he admitted. "But you seem to be impressed with something. I heard a name — Mina, I think — but I don't see the significance."

"'Mina' has been the enigma of the art world for months," Robin explained. "Her first show was only a few months ago, but already she's being hailed as possibly the world's finest artist." Holding up the picture Maria had given her she said, "Just look!"

Robbins looked at it and then studied it more closely. "This is unreal!" he exclaimed. "Just look at Melissa's eyes. They're just loaded with love, and you can see it. You can see the devotion of her two dogs. And, I'm proud to say, you can see the concern in your eyes and mine for the girl." He slowly shook his head and added, "To me, so much of what passes for art these days is the purest obscene junk. But this... !" Then to Robin he asked, "Is this valuable?"

Robin's laugh sounded almost cynical. "Valuable? Let me just say that the lowest-priced work of hers sold at the show for $25,000. Furthermore, the art critics were unanimous that she left huge sums of money on the table. Although the show was only a few months ago, the cheapest work was resold a couple of weeks ago for $75,000, confirming the critics' judgment.

"Now look at this: Aside from her signature signing — see the way the lines in the lower right form the word, Mina? — look at the inscription: 'Thank you for giving Melissa to us and brightening our lives, ' and it's signed, Mina. Is it valuable, you asked? Probably 50 grand, or more, is all."

Judge Robbin's eyes widened and he whistled softly.

James began serving. The lunch was sautéed brook trout. JJ had done something marvelous because there was a hint of white wine, herbs and spices while not interfering with the very delicate taste of the fish. It was followed by a fresh fruit compote for dessert.

"Utterly spectacular!" Robin pronounced. "But... but why wasn't Maria eating with us?"

"Because they all like to be closer to the source of supply. Besides, they think the dining room is too pretentious. We normally eat our meals in the kitchen with them." Then I added, "Would you like to see the kitchen? I know JJ would love to hear that you enjoyed your lunch."

They both instantly agreed, and leaving our coffee, we went back to the kitchen. Again, when Robin saw it she stopped dead in her tracks. "My God! This is exactly like..." Then she saw JJ and her eyes widened even more. "I... do... not... believe this. You're Jane J, aren't you? And this is the set for your TV show."

"I'm Jane," JJ agreed, "but this isn't the set. The set at the studio duplicates this one."

Then Robin turned to Marty and me and said, "You mean to tell me that Melissa's food — all of it! — is prepared by Jane J?"

We just nodded our heads.

"And aside from being a spectacular chef, she's a graduate nutritionist, too, isn't she?"

"She'll get her doctorate in January," Maria responded.

It was funny. Robin staggered more than she walked back to the dining room and her coffee.

While she was trying to regain her composure, Marty addressed Judge Robbins. "Judge, we learned that you're not much interested in art. What do you do in your spare time?"

James was in the room refilling coffee cups when Robbins replied, "I read a lot. And I particularly love Mark Mitchell's books. What an incredibly gifted writer he is!"

James disappeared and a few moments later returned with another of his leather-bound volumes in hand. He gave it to the judge who opened it and gasped. There on the flyleaf was the inscription, "To Judge Andrew Robbins in appreciation for giving us Melissa, the light of our life." It was signed, "With deepest gratitude, Mark Mitchell."

The judge just sat there, utterly stunned. "My God!" he muttered to himself. "This household includes the world's finest artist, the finest chef, and the best-selling author." He looked up at me and added, "And they all work for you. But why?"

I just shrugged and said, "I guess they like it here. But that's because they're all deep-seated masochists. Ask Maria and JJ. All they ever do is complain about Marty and all the exercising she makes them do. But they're still here."

At that point Robin, who had been just studying her hands, which were folded on the table, spoke up. "Okay, folks. It's time for me to come clean."

She looked at me with her piercing green eyes and said, "Miss Smith, I'm Robin Pierce. I'm Director of Professional Staff in the Commonwealth's Department of Human Services. In that capacity, every social worker in the state reports to me directly or indirectly.

"Well, for months now I've been getting complaints from our senior professional here in Norfolk. Her name is Prudence Parker. And she has been screaming about the adoption of Melissa by your daughter, and wants the Commonwealth to go to court to have the adoption reversed."

At that point, she reached into her purse and pulled out a small notebook. "Now let's see... First, Melissa is living in a totally unsafe environment. Her personal safety is in serious question." She paused and then continued, "Hmm... I learned that the state fire marshals rate this the safest private residence in the state. And then there's personal safety... With about 300 pounds or so of German Shepherd who refuse to allow her out of their sight, I have a much greater fear for the health and safety of anyone who might try to harm her."

Again she glanced at her notebook. "Ah, yes... Her health. The poor child is wasting away..." She looked up at me and Marty and said, "I spoke yesterday to Dr. Richards. He tells me that Melissa is the healthiest young woman he's ever seen, and her physical conditioning is extraordinary."

Another look at the notebook. "Her education is being sadly neglected." Then her brow furrowed as she added, "But her reading is not age-appropriate... whatever the hell that means." Again she looked at both of us and continued, "Those two points seem to conflict, don't they? But out of curiosity, why are you home-schooling Melissa?"

Marty looked down at her own hands, then looked up and replied, "When Missy came to live with us — and that's the name she greatly prefers, by the way — she could neither read nor write. She had never set foot in a school in her life. We... wanted to try to get her up to speed so she wouldn't be so far behind her classmates, she couldn't catch up."

Marty and I were both startled when both Robin and the judge began to howl with laughter. Robin was the first to regain control and she gasped, "Not too far behind? My dear women, I could get Missy enrolled at UVA Charlottesville tomorrow, and probably as a sophomore... at least!" She paused and continued, "Before going into social work, I had my BA from UVA with a major in English. Missy is reading and understanding works used at the college level. Let's see..." she mused, "she's 11 years old. That's the fifth grade. She is so far ahead of any fifth-grader, it's utterly ridiculous!"

Again she glanced at her notebook, and this time she broke out laughing. "This one is truly the greatest! Prudence says Missy is in an uncultured environment." With a grin she asked, "Just out of curiosity, how many degrees do the residents of this house hold?"

"I don't really know," I replied. "I'm the household dunce, though. I don't have any..."

"Mother!" Marty nearly screamed. "What about—"

"They don't count!" I interrupted. "They were all done on Paul's computer thing."

"But you've already been awarded a bachelor's and a master's degree, and you're working on your doctorate! Dunce, indeed!"

"And then there is the nation's top artist and top fiction writer..." Robin mused. "It's really not much, but then it is only a single household... I think we could get by that one."

Then Robin's expression changed. "Oh, shit! This means I'll have to stay over and meet with Prudence in the morning." She looked at me and asked, "Could I use a phone, please? I need to find a hotel for tonight."

When Robin said she had to stay over, I saw Missy start to bounce in her chair. "Ask her, Mommy! Please?"

"Missy has been hoping, Robin. Would you care to stay here? As you could see, we have lots of room. But beyond that, Missy has been so hoping you would stay with her. I'm sure you'll agree that she has lots of room in her suite."

"I would love it!" Robin exclaimed. "And this way I could tell Prudence that I really got to know Missy."

"Could you both stay for dinner?" I asked. "Unless, Judge, you have to get home... ?"

"I would love to," Robbins replied. "The fact is that my wife and kids are out of town visiting her parents — we're spending Christmas with mine this year — so I'm batching it. But I will need to get home somehow..."

"No problem!" I responded. "James would be delighted to drive you home. Then I assume the car in the drive is yours, Robin?"

"It's a state car, but yes."

"If you give James the keys, he'll put it in the garage for the night." She did and he did while I told JJ there would be two more for dinner. As usual, she was delighted at the prospect.

We returned to the library and Robin asked Missy, "What do you do for relaxation? Anything besides reading?"

"I've been learning to play chess," Missy replied. "Paul wrote a chess-playing program that's really pretty neat. It's going to be sold commercially, I understand."

"Chess? That's a tough game. Tell me about that software," Robin said. "It sounds very interesting."

"Oh, it is. It has about ten skill levels from beginner to master."

"To master?" she commented. "Wow! What level are you playing?"

"Master," Missy replied, "but I'm not nearly as good as Mama or Gram. They beat the computer about eight games out of ten. I barely break even."

Robin flopped back on the sofa. "Barely break even playing at the master level. And just a few months ago she could neither read nor write. What an utterly incredible brain!"



-------

Chapter 8


It was about four o'clock when a ladder truck pulled up at the curb in front of our house. All of us went to the front door to see what was going on. About a dozen firemen in their dress uniforms got off the truck, formed a small semicircle and began to sing Christmas carols.

We were all thrilled, but Missy was particularly so. The only person we recognized in the group was Captain Harris who was leading the singing. We all got coats and went out to observe things more closely.

I noticed that Harris had seen Missy, and it was clear he was very happy she was there. When they finished, one of the men went to the truck and returned with several very large boxes which he gave to the captain.

"Missy," Capt. Harris began, "merry Christmas! Although it's not Christmas yet, we wanted you to have these things." With that, he opened the first large box and removed a fireman's helmet in Missy's size! On the front was the emblem, "Norfolk F D, Ladder 6". He put it on her head, made a couple of adjustments, and it fit perfectly. Opening the second box, he took out a fireman's coat. Although it was insulated to protect the man from a fire's heat, it was equally effective keeping out the cold. It was waterproof tan canvas with reflective yellow stripes all across it. On its back was stenciled, "Ladder 6." Finally, there was a pair of boots.

When Missy was fully dressed she was utterly adorable and ecstatic with happiness. "This is so utterly perfect!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what to say."

"Sweetheart, we certainly hope you're not fighting any fires, but it does rain here in Norfolk. You'll find that you'll stay dry as a bone when you take your wonderful dogs out for a walk."

He paused and shook his head. "Actually, we're embarrassed. All the men in the department wanted to do something nice for a girl who has been so wonderful to us. We took up a citywide collection, but then something odd happened: We went to our regular equipment suppliers and explained what we wanted. When they learned that these were gifts for a girl who had done so much for firefighters and their families, they refused to charge. These are all gifts from our suppliers to you."

Missy turned to Marty, went into her arms and began to cry her eyes out.

Capt. Harris and the firefighters were utterly dismayed.

While holding Missy tightly, Marty explained, "She's so incredibly happy, she just had to cry. This is one of the nicest, sweetest things anyone has ever done for her. And I have to say it is also the most original gift I could imagine. Thank you all so very much. And I'm sure Missy will say the same thing when she's capable of saying something."

Missy regained control and then insisted on kissing every fireman present. And she really unloaded, too.

Although we invited the firemen in, they insisted they had to get their truck back to the station. They left and we returned to the house with Missy trudging along in her brand-new boots.

James had no sooner served cocktails — I noticed that both Robin and the judge had Cardhu, our house single-malt scotch — than we heard another truck drive up and stop in front of the house. This time, it was a military vehicle. Again we all went out to see what was going on.

A group of Marines wearing their dress blues got out of the back of the truck, while three more got out of the cab. One of the three was an officer, while another was a very senior enlisted man with more stripes and chevrons on his sleeve than I could count. And again they lined up and began singing Christmas carols. And you know what? They were really good, too. At the time I thought it was so typical of the United States Marines: Whatever they undertook to do, they would do it very well, even if, as in this instance, it was serenading a little girl.

And Missy was ecstatic!

When they concluded their concert, the officer introduced himself as Captain John Tyler. He commanded a local Marine Corps Reserve unit. In turn, he introduced the highly decorated sergeant. "This is Howard Crawford," he said. "He is Sergeant Major of the Corps, and as such is the senior enlisted man in the entire Marine Corps. He is on the staff of the Commandant, and the Commandant himself is the only person who can tell Howard to do anything... and then not very often."

Crawford chuckled at that and rolled his eyes.

"I have a Christmas gift for a girl who is a friend of the Corps and a friend to hundreds of children whose Christmas is going to be brighter this year because of her," Crawford began. "Melissa Smith, on behalf of the officers and men and women of the United States Marine Corps, I have a cap for you. The Commandant would have come himself, but he had a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff that he had to attend." With that he presented Missy with a soft fatigue cap with the Marine Corps device in dulled metal and below it were the twin bars of a captain, also in dulled metal.

Missy took the cap and looked at it with her eyes wide. "Oh, dear! This is so wonderful! But I'm not sure I can accept it."

All of us were puzzled by that statement, but Missy just led the way into the house with everyone else trailing behind. She went back in the foyer to a position beside the stairway and just stood aside in front of the Mina painting of Jim and Paul. "This is the reason," Missy explained. "Uncle Jim and Uncle Paul are sailors. I don't know if they would let me wear a Marine cap."

Crawford saw the two Navy Crosses around the necks of Jim and Paul. Only then did I realize that the first ribbon on his chest was identical to the ribbon holding the Navy Cross. Clearly, he had won one, too.

"Well I'll be damned!" he muttered. "The guys were right..."

I walked right into it. "Right about what?"

"They said that Kellogg's was packing these things in boxes of Corn Flakes, and if a couple of swabbies have them, I guess they were right."

Everyone laughed at that, particularly Paul and Jim. Then Jim said, "Sweetie, the Navy keeps the Marines around. They look good saluting at the gates of naval bases, and there are still Marine detachments aboard our capital ships. So it would be okay for you to wear their cap."

Missy grinned happily and put it on. It was perfectly sized and looked lovely on her golden head. "How do I look?" she asked.

Sergeant Crawford gave her a meticulous salute. To his amazement, Missy returned it with one as good. "A sailor knowing how to salute? When the hell did that happen?" Again there was laughter all around.

Then Paul observed, "I see that Missy is a captain. How did that happen?"

Captain Tyler explained, "Because of your marvelous gifts to our Toys for Tots program, we wanted to do something for Missy, so we came up with the idea of this fatigue cap. Somehow it got to Washington, and the Commandant heard about it. He's the one who insisted on captain's bars." He grinned and added, "And when the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps says that Melissa Smith is a captain, by God, she's a captain! There ain't no one going to argue that point."

One of the other Marines had been looking at the painting carefully. Then his eyes widened and he noted, "Good grief! This is... a Mina!"

"What's a mina?" Tyler asked, looking a bit bewildered.

"Mina may be only the finest painter active in the world today, except nobody knows who he is." He saw Maria snuggling close to Paul and said, "But Mina isn't a 'he', she's a 'she', isn't she?" he asked looking right at Maria.

Looking chagrined, she raised her hand to shoulder level and just nodded once. At that point the Marines looked at both Maria and JJ, and realized what stunning beauties both were. Another whistled softly and then to Crawford he asked, "Is your wife as beautiful as these two, Sergeant Major?"

"She's beautiful," Crawford replied, "but not a world-class beauty like these two."

"Damn!" another Marine commented. "I thought they issued you one along with the Navy Cross."

Everyone laughed at that comment.

When the laughter died down, Crawford replied, "No, they don't, but I think it's a neat idea. I'll have to take it up with the Commandant."

More laughter.

Then another Marine remarked, "Okay, they're beautiful. But can they cook?"

Still more laughter.

Another rejoined, "If my wife looked like either of these two, she'd never be out of my bed long enough to even find the kitchen!"

Even though she was blushing like a beet, Maria responded, "Maybe that's the trouble: Since Paul keeps me constantly in a post-orgasmic haze, I'm only semi-conscious when I'm painting."

That time all the guys cheered.

Then another Marine said, "Someone asked if they could cook. Have any of you ever seen the TV show, 'Cooking with Jane J'? Well, guess what? Mrs. Johnson is Jane. Can she cook? Only one of the world's finest!"

This time it was JJ's turn to blush. She just hid her face in Jim's broad shoulder and he held her tightly.

And only then did I realize how truly beautiful Maria and JJ really were... and are! Remarkable!

One of the other Marines had been walking around the foyer and even up the stairway looking at the portraits of my ancestors, most of whom were in military uniforms. "You know what, guys?" he commented. "These two should feel right at home. It's pretty clear to me that this is a family of warriors going way, way back." To me he asked, "Did your ancestors ever miss a fight?"

"We've been around here since 1607, and I really don't think they ever did," I admitted.

The Marines declined refreshments which was just as well because I could tell JJ was concerned about her dinner being ruined. As they were preparing to leave, though, Sergeant Crawford asked Paul what he did with his time in the winter (he had already learned that Paul was our gardener). Paul told him that he did a little work for NSA, the National Security Agency based at Fort Meade and the home of our communications intelligence community. When Crawford expressed interest, Paul wrote out a string of letters and numbers that appeared to be about 16 characters long and gave it to him with the comment that the string was the only way he could be found.

-------

That didn't end our dealings with the Marines, though. To complete the story, several weeks later a Marine staff car drove up. There were two men in the back as well as the driver. The driver declined an invitation to come in, electing to remain in his vehicle. The two occupants were Sergeant Crawford and Captain Tyler. When Jim opened the door for them, it was apparent that it was not a social call. They asked if they could meet privately with Paul and of course I agreed. Paul joined them in the library and the door was closed.

More than an hour later, Tyler and Crawford left, and I realized that Paul appeared to be in a state of shock. He was white as a sheet. When I asked what was wrong, he just shook his head and asked if we could have a family meeting. In minutes, everyone was present except for Missy and her dogs. When Maria saw her husband, her eyes widened, too. "What happened?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"There are two things," Paul began. "I'll take the second one first; it's simpler. Captain Tyler told me that the mobilization assignment for his Marine rifle company has been changed. Effective immediately, in the event of mobilization, its assignment is to protect this house and the people in it... particularly me! Can you believe it? I really can't. We're to have a whole damned Marine rifle company — with armored support, yet! — covering us. Wow!

"It's the other thing that's really wild," he continued. "It seems that Sergeant Crawford told the Commandant about us and gave him my coded ID. He, in turn, called NSA. After more than the usual call shifting, he reached a very senior guy who told him he wasn't cleared for that information. The Commandant was really miffed until the guy told him that NCA isn't either. NCA, by the way, is National Command Authority which is another name for the President wearing his hat as Commander in Chief. It seems there are fewer than six people who know in detail just what it is that I do.

"But that wasn't all. Crawford was given a very delicate assignment. It seems that the NSA IG — the Inspector General — has been crawling all over the place paying particular attention to the work of independent contractors. One of the things they did was to prepare a list of outside projects arranged in order of their value to NSA along with what they had paid for them."

He swallowed hard and continued, "They said I've done eight assignments. Does that sound right, Marty? You're the one who keeps track of those things."

"I can't be sure without checking all the records, but it sounds about right," she agreed. "But why?"

Paul was really embarrassed at that point. "Because, all eight of mine are in NSA's top 10 in terms of value to them. And the top three are all mine."

"That's wonderful, darling!" Maria exclaimed. "I'm so proud of you!"

There was a break in the narrative at that point for Paul to melt Maria with a really passionate kiss. Those two — and JJ and Jim, for that matter — just can't do pecks.

"There seems to be some problem," Marty commented, "but for the life of me, I can't figure what it is."

"The problem is NSA wants me to add at least one zero to my fees. The IG asked The Powers why the hell they didn't use me more often. Not only was I the best, I was — by a very wide margin — the cheapest. Their response was that the assignments I did were the only ones I would accept."

"Is that true?" Marty asked.

"I guess so," Paul admitted. "The ones I turn down are just programming busy-work as far as I'm concerned. You just do the same things over and over and over. Bor... ing! But anyway, NSA asked if I wouldn't please look over the assignment possibilities more carefully. Crawford said he would explain the boring bit to them — or try to — but we'll have to see. But in the meantime, they want me to increase my fees by a factor of at least 10. I'll still be the cheapest, but it won't look quite so bad.

"And the fact of the matter is those other outfits have armies of programmers they have to pay to do the busy-work."

He swallowed hard, looked at Marty and said, "You're my business manager. What do you think?"

"I think I'm pissed is what I think," she replied. "I just finished a financial plan for you and Maria and now I'll have to scrap it. So I'm pissed!"

With his eyes wide Paul commented, "But you don't have anything else to do beyond working on your tan. I don't understand the problem."

"Paul Díaz, I think I will shoot you!" Marty announced.

"But, Marty," Paul protested, "I'm the shooter; you're not."

Marty tried her best to look thoughtful. But, like Bullwinkle J. Moose, her best was none too good. "That's true," she admitted, trying to control her giggles. "But for you, Paul, I'll make an exception."

Then to me she said, "Can you believe it, Mom? For months we've had a staff, all of whom are millionaires in their own right. But now... ! They each have an annual income of more than a million. Much more! Oh, shit!"

Trying to keep a straight face, Jim asked, "What's the problem? What am I missing?"

"Damn it, you four! Now I'm going to really have to work on my investments so Mom and I can try to keep up with our hired help!"

Everyone howled with laughter at that one.

-------

But back to the evening with Robin Pierce and Andy Robbins. (Oh, yeah... The judge insisted that he was now and forever more, Andy. And he insisted that Missy call him Uncle Andy, which she was delighted to do.)

That night, JJ outdid herself. She served a perfect lump crabmeat cocktail with her own special sauce followed by filet of beef Wellington with sauce Périgord. Utterly marvelous! It was served with a lovely chateau-bottled Bordeaux, and was followed by cherries jubilee. That, in turn, was followed by a cheese platter along with coffee, cigars and cognac. Missy just looked wistfully at the cognac and cigars. Tough!

We were still sitting at the table when we heard more singing out front. By this time it was getting cold, so we all put on coats and went out to see what was going on. It was a group of carolers from our neighborhood, but this time we joined them. And it was only then that I learned for the first time what a marvelous singing voice Missy really had. When the group began singing "Angels We Have Heard On High," Missy really cut loose on the word, Gloria. Her voice was high and clear with amazing vocal trills. What amazed me was that Marty and I could do it, too. I didn't think I could sing a note.

Anyway, the folks asked us to join them, so we did. And I must say that Jim and Paul with their rich baritone voices added a great deal. Prince and Duke were funny, though. When we stopped to sing, they just sat on their haunches looking up at Missy's face without making a sound. They could not have been better.

It took us about 90 minutes to get around the block, and then we invited the folks in for hot chocolate and cookies. They, like others before them, raved about the beautiful butter cookies with their individualized decorations. JJ presented each of them with a package of the cookies to take home.

Finally, it was bedtime. Jim drove the judge home in our Rolls while the rest of us prepared for bed. Robin very diffidently asked if she could borrow a nightgown, and I was embarrassed. I had to admit there wasn't a single one in the house. Then I blushingly admitted that we all slept bare.

"How neat!" she exclaimed. To say the very least, I was surprised by her reaction. Then it was Robin's turn to blush as she admitted that she was a practicing nudist and always slept bare herself. "In fact," she added, "at home I'm naked whenever I can possibly get away with it."

After preparing for bed, I heard laughter and giggles coming from the direction of Missy's room, so I wrapped a towel around my midsection and went to investigate. What I saw was adorable: There were Robin and Missy together in the baby swimming pool that serves as Missy's bathtub. Both of them had their hair piled up on top of their heads, and there were two small sailboats in the tub with them.

When Missy saw me, she wailed, "Gram, Aunt Robin is cheating! We're racing sailboats, but when I go to blow into the sail of my boat, she tickles me! That's not fair, is it?"

I couldn't control my giggles, so I just shook my head.

Then Missy noticed the way my towel was wrapped and she exclaimed, "Gram! What are you doing? You know what Mama says about wrapping a towel around your tits!"

Sheepishly, I unwrapped it and then re-wrapped it around my hips, baring my breasts. "Better?"

"Much!" Missy agreed. Then she added, "Aunt Robin has bigger tits than you and Mama. But they're so perfectly shaped! I just love them." And suiting her actions to her words, she gently caressed Robin's tit. Instantly, her nipple which was already hard, became even harder.

"Sweetie, everyone has bigger tits than we do. It's just one of those things."

Robin had been staring at my body. Finally she murmured, "Simply perfect! Cathy, you are outrageously beautiful."

Trying to change the subject, I asked, "What do you think of sharing a bath with my granddaughter?" I grinned and added, "It sounded like you two were having a good time."

Robin returned my grin and exclaimed, "I'm having more fun than I can ever remember. And this... this tub! Unbelievable! The water seems to hold its temperature, too."

"It does. The only thing we had to do was to install oil separators into their filtering systems. I see there's musk oil floating on the surface, and initially it got pretty expensive because the filtering system would take it all out in no time. Now it goes through a separator. The water is filtered and cleaned and then the filtered musk oil is put back into the tub.

"Oh, yeah... One more thing: Although we're using city water, there's a very complex water treatment plant in the basement that treats all the household water. It's filtered and the chlorine is removed. It's really pretty nice."

"Come on, little girl," Robin said, standing in the tub. When she did, I found that she had a lovely figure.

"Gram, did you notice? Aunt Robin has hair on her pussy. Why is that? No one here does." Then she looked thoughtful and added, "But back where I came from, I guess most of the older women did, too."

"May I see?" Robin asked.

I untied the towel and let it drop while I stood there in what passed for my model's pose.

"I repeat: Cathy Smith, you are outrageously beautiful. I have never seen a more perfect body in my life!"

"That's only because you haven't seen JJ, Maria, or Marty bare yet. They're the beauties; I'm not." Then I blushed and asked, "Will you be joining us for our workouts in the morning?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" Robin replied. "But why did you ask?"

"Because we're always naked when we work out," I managed to stammer. "It... it saves having to wash exercise outfits all the time."

The two were out of the tub by that time and were drying each other off. As I was leaving to go to bed, I saw Missy leading Robin over to the massage table. That woman was in for a real treat.



-------

Chapter 9


The next morning I went back into Missy's room. As usual, I found Prince sleeping by the door with Duke over by the window. The pair had the only two possible ways into the room covered. When Prince saw it was me, he just went back to sleep.

"Okay, you two! Time to rise and shine!"

Missy and Robin were in the middle of the bed wrapped in each other's arms. Both pairs of eyes opened, but neither of them moved.

"Gram, it was so wonderful last night! Robin is so nice and her body smells so nice... !"

"Me? How about you, young lady?" Robin retorted. She turned her head to look at me and added, "Marty was right. She said I would awaken with the scent of spring flowers, and that's exactly how it is. Not only is Missy a dream in my arms, but this bed is the nicest I've ever slept in." With that she released Missy and stretched.

Missy popped out of bed and went to the bathroom, reluctantly followed by Robin. In a few minutes, we made our way naked down to the exercise room. There we found JJ and Maria finishing up on the machines and heading out to the pool. Although it was very close to Christmas, the pool was heated to a comfortable swimming temperature. The swimming wasn't bad; it was getting to and from.

Missy started on her regimen and I started on mine. Robin just looked at the array of exercise machines and got on one herself. Clearly, she knew her way around because the first thing she did was to check the machine's setting. I saw her wind down the resistance, pause, and then increase it back up a notch or two. I think she decided that her normal settings just wouldn't make it with our crowd.

We went through our routines and then Missy and I sprinted for the pool and dove in. Robin reluctantly followed. I guess the cold air got to her because she dove right in, too. We did our laps and climbed out. I tossed Robin a fluffy towel and ran back to the house, this time going up the backstairs to the kitchen.

When Robin saw Maria, JJ, and me with our towels around our hips, she did hers the same way. Only then did I notice that she had the same all-over tan that the rest of us did. But then another thought registered: Her pubic area was as bare as ours were. When I commented on it, she motioned toward Missy and told us that the girl had shaved her the night before.

"It feels sort of odd, but nice," she admitted. Then she grinned and added, "My grandmother — she's the one who started the family on the nudism kick — always shaved, too, and tried to get me to try. I guess I used to think that my pubic patch was a mark of physical maturity, so I wouldn't. But you know what? She was right."

Changing the subject, I suggested that she have ham and eggs. "JJ uses Virginia ham. I thought it had become extinct, but she found a farmer who still cures it and she gets ours from him. She's been trying to get him to increase his production, but he won't. He claims that's too much like work. So he produces enough for his family and ours, but that's it." I grinned and added, "I guarantee you've never had anything like it. Or at least nothing like it for at least 20 years."

She took my advice, and JJ served her ham and eggs with her own home-fries.

"This is unbelievably good!" Robin raved. Then to JJ she said, "Mrs. Johnson, I hate you. I really do. After having three meals of yours, what am I going to do now? I'll starve! Food that yesterday morning I would have rated as very good has now sunk to the level of library paste. So I hate you. So there," she concluded with a pout.

JJ just made sympathetic-sounding noises.

After breakfast, she went back to Missy's room, closely followed by Maria. I knew that her appointment with Prudence Parker was for ten o'clock.

A little after 9:30, she came down the stairs. "I hate you all!" she announced. "Just look!"

Robin was utterly stunning. Obviously, Maria had changed her hairdo and very expertly applied makeup.

"What's the problem?" I asked blandly. "You look okay."

"Okay!" she nearly screamed. "I've never looked even half this good in my entire life! And my clothes! I'm wearing the same outfit I wore yesterday, but somehow it was cleaned and pressed and looks better than the day I brought it home from the store. What's going on around here, anyway?"

"Oh," I replied airily, "it's just one of those things that Maria takes care of. She wants you to look nice, so..."

"All I can say is that if this place were a hotel, rooms would be going for upwards of a thousand dollars a night! Never have I heard of such a place or such incredibly thoughtful service."

At that point we heard a car drive up to the door. Ms. Parker, no doubt, and that's who it was.

I had thought that Robin intended to meet with Ms. Parker alone, but was surprised when she asked all of us to join them. Moreover, it was clear that she really wanted all of us present.

When we were all settled, Prudence Parker was sitting on the sofa, while Robin was sitting on a side chair close beside her.

Robin began, mincing no words. "Parker, I came down here yesterday to investigate the accusations you've been making for months regarding the adoption of Melissa by Martha Smith." She paused and then unloaded, "I have never seen a more totally unfounded set of accusations in my life!

"Let's take them from the top: First, you said that Missy is wasting away. Before coming down, I called Dr. Robert Richards, the physician who treated her the night she first appeared here. As it happened, he had seen Missy just a few days earlier for a regular checkup. Dr. Richards told me that he had never seen a healthier child in his career. 'If all my patients were like Missy, I would have to look for some other line of work, ' was his summary statement.

"'Living in an unsafe environment, ' was another of your charges. The state fire marshal has gone over this home from top to bottom and has pronounced it the safest residence in the Commonwealth!

"Now let's look at Missy's room which you rate as totally unsatisfactory." We all went up to Missy's suite and Parker just gaped. Again everything was spotless, and the only thing on Missy's bed was her stuffed animal, Snuffles.

We all trooped back to the library and Robin continued, "Now let's see... Another accusation was that Missy is physically in danger. That's really a laugh. I don't know if you noticed, but I did: When you came in, the hackles came up on both of these guard dogs. They belong to Melissa and guard her with their lives. Why are their hackles up? Because they instantly recognized you as a threat to their beloved Missy. I'm glad you stayed well away from the girl, because had you not, I would have feared for your safety. They see you — correctly — as a menace.

"But beyond that, you may notice bulges in the left armpit of these two gentlemen. Those bulges are caused by .44 magnums. They are pistols that make very large holes. And both of these men are recipients of the Navy Cross, the second-highest award for valor our nation can award. They are armed and fully capable of using their weapons to their full effect. Understand?"

"I was right!" Prudence announced proudly. "Melissa must be removed from this house at once! These are men of violence! Such an association cannot be permitted!"

"You're nuts!" Robin bluntly asserted. "They are men of gallantry who have bled in defense of our nation and our liberty!

"But enough of that. Back to your bill of particulars. You assert that Melissa is suffering from malnutrition. All I can say is that I have eaten three meals with Missy and can guarantee she is not malnourished. Mrs. Johnson, the cook, may be the very finest cook alive. Moreover, she's only about a month away from receiving her doctorate in nutrition.

"To wrap this up, though, you raised a question about her education. There are a pair of assertions that puzzle me. In one you claim she's not getting an education. But in another, you state that her reading matter is not age-appropriate. What do you mean by that?"

"Well!" Parker huffed. "She is 11 years old; that's fifth grade. She should be reading things like 'Heather's Two Mommies', not the trash she does read."

"Trash?" Robin repeated in a dangerously calm tone of voice. "Trash? Like William Shakespeare? Like Charles Dickens? Like Cicero and Cæsar?"

"They're all Dead White European Males!" Parker complained. "They've all been dropped from school curricula, and good riddance."

"They've been dropped? Then all that's been dropped is our very civilization!" Robin railed. "And you know what Missy told me? She's studying Latin and ancient Greek so she can read Cicero and Cæsar in the original Latin, and Plato, Socrates and Aristotle in the original Greek. And you know something else? She understands both what they're saying and also the significance of it to our civilization.

"Furthermore," Robin continued proudly, "I spent last night with Missy. That's when she told me about her reading plans. But that's not all..." Turning to Missy she asked her to get her new cap, and Missy scampered off — closely followed by Prince and Duke, of course — and then returned. She was wearing the cap on her golden head. "That, Prudence, was a gift to Missy from the United States Marine Corps. You will see captain's bars affixed to it, and that's at the personal direction of the Commandant of the Corps! It's a small token of the esteem in which she's held.

"I will tell you one more thing: Last night I had more fun than I can ever remember. I was racing sailboats with Missy in that giant bathtub of hers. And that girl is joyous! She lives in a household of love, and much of it is focused on her!

"But enough of this. There will be no court claim to reverse Melissa's adoption.

"But now to another matter: It has come to my attention that you have hired men to spy on this household. This includes attempts to plant listening devices and cameras. I hope you realize that these are felonies and are grounds for your immediate dismissal... for cause! No severance, no health insurance, no accrued vacation or sick time... Nothing! Do you understand?"

Prudence Parker had just turned as white as a sheet. She was truly in a state of shock. Finally she was able to say, "You couldn't... ! You... you wouldn't..."

"I can and I will," Robin retorted with her eyes blazing. "But I might be willing to give you one more chance..." Then she changed tack dramatically. "By the way, have you ever approved a family for adoption? You, personally?"

"Why... why yes... ! Of course!" she sputtered.

"Who?"

"Well... uh... Mary Blake!"

It was clear that Robin was searching her memory. "Oh, yeah... I remember that one. The department finally approved the adoption, but it didn't go through. By the time you got around to approving it, Mary was 18 and an adult." Robin just shook her head in dismay. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed bitterly. "At the age of 12, her parents were killed and there were no available relatives, so the department placed her in a foster home. The family, the Crimmins, had taken in a number of foster children over the years, but they really fell in love with Mary, and she with them. For the very first time they initiated action to adopt Mary as their daughter.

"Then, in spite of having worked with the Crimmins as foster parents for years, it took over six years of contemplating your collective navels for them to be approved. But was that all? Hell, no! You decided to remove Mary from the Crimmins' custody because it might 'color the adoption proceedings, ' or some such bullshit!

"That, Prudence Parker, was a departmental disgrace! And I don't even want to think about the human cost."

"But we had to be sure!" Prudence protested.

"Sure of what?" Robin retorted. She shook her head in dismay. "Let's face it: There are families — not including the Crimmins — who are foster parents for the money the state gives them. As parents, they're nothing to write home about. But given the need to place children somewhere, they're used. And you know what? I'm now certain that at least a part of the ever-growing need for foster parents is a direct result of the incredibly time-consuming process you go through with adoptions."

Robin sat there drumming her fingernails against the arm of her chair. Finally, she appeared to reach a decision. "I'm going to give you one more chance. But there will be an immediate change. Effective today, there will be date/time stamps installed in your offices. All incoming material will be stamped.

"With respect to the Smith family, should they ever have occasion to adopt another child, you will have one hour to process the child for immediate adoption. Is that clear? And as a reminder, your offenses are felonies, and the statutes of limitations have years to run. Should you take 61 minutes or longer, you will be prosecuted! Am I clear?

The woman was so shook, she was unable to speak. Instead, she just nodded her head with steadily increasing rapidity.

"Finally, Prudence, I am telling you all of this in the presence of the Smith family. The reason for that is that they have been the injured parties in your machinations. Furthermore, I want them to be fully aware of my instructions to you. So if they are not followed... You understand?"

Again the head nodded rapidly.

And so much for Prudence Parker.

Finally, it was Christmas. As you've probably gathered, that was actually our second Christmas in our rebuilt house, but as far as we were concerned, it was really the first. The prior year we were still getting settled so we really felt we were camping out. But not that year!

Before continuing, a word about wealth: From what I've already written, it should be clear to you that objectively we were wealthy. Subjectively, we were anything but. I've thought about this a lot and finally concluded that it resulted from the fact that Maria and Paul, Jim and JJ, struggled while the guys were in the Navy. You've heard about Marty's life prior to being rescued by Ann Stockdale. For myself, there were all the years spent watching my home decay around me while my fortune evaporated. At any rate, we really didn't feel rich.

I'm reminded of an apocryphal story regarding Nelson Rockefeller when he was a student at Dartmouth College. He appeared on campus with a used Chevrolet, which was new to him. Some fraternity brothers teased him about the fact that it wasn't even a new car. Rockefeller allegedly replied, "Who do you think we are? The Vanderbilts?" And that at a time when his father could have bought out all the Vanderbilts with his petty cash. But you see the point.

At any rate, as you've gathered, we didn't stint where spending money on our home was concerned, nor on food. But we were reluctant — to say the very least — to spend any money on items only of use to ourselves.

And so to Christmas.

First of all, there was the tree. We had the family tree set up in the library which, as I've mentioned, had a very high ceiling. As a result the room could and did accommodate a large tree, and that's what we had. We also had Maria and her artist's eye for beauty. It was funny, really. There were Jim and Paul up on ladders with Maria standing below with her head cocked. She would have one of them move an ornament about an inch or so, then move it back. She was driving them nuts!

Along with tiny white lights all over the tree, there were antique ornaments. They had been found when the house had been cleared out prior to its interior demolition. The ornaments dated from the 19th century, and I couldn't remember them ever having been used. Obviously, they had been put away — very carefully, I'm happy to say — years before and then forgotten. When they were rediscovered, they were in perfect condition and worked perfectly against the tree and the surrounding room.

The final result, though, was utterly magnificent. I am convinced that it was the most beautiful Christmas tree, anywhere, anytime. And that's an impartial judgment, I'm sure you will agree.

The focus of our Christmas was Missy. It was the very first for her and we all wanted it to be memorable. For weeks before, after finally shooing her off to bed, there were family conferences with the six of us to decide what things she would most enjoy. And you know what? Our planning was the happiest time for all of us. We were united in adoring that girl and wanting her to have the finest Christmas possible.

On Christmas morning, we made our way downstairs with Missy in the lead. The whole family gathered around the closed door to the library, waiting for Missy to open it. She did and then screamed for joy. It was beautiful!

But then I noticed something else. Under the tree was a group of large packages that hadn't been there when we had gone to bed the night before. But we distributed the gifts, and we all rejoiced in Missy's happiness. The girl was utterly euphoric as gift after gift emerged from its wrapping.

When all the gifts we had bought had been opened, there were still those mysterious large boxes. Missy gathered two that were the same size and gave them to Marty and me. Opening the box, I was utterly stunned. It was a full-length Russian sable coat! For me! From Missy! Glancing over at Marty, I realized she had the same thing. And I have to say that the dark fur looked magnificent with both my silver hair and Marty's gold.

Marty kept saying that it was too good; it had to go back. But on the other hand, she slipped it on and didn't take it off for the rest of the day. She utterly adored it. For Maria and JJ, there were two full-length coats in ranch mink. The women were euphoric!

Just as I wondered what she had for Jim and Paul, I heard the sounds of tires on our drive, followed by the throaty roar of powerful motorcycles being started, and then the sounds of the vehicle driving away.

"Uncle Jim and Uncle Paul, your Christmas presents just arrived," Missy announced. Then we went outside with the women — us — all wearing our new fur coats.

There in front of the house with their engines idling were a pair of identical Harley-Davidson motorcycles in black. They were magnificent, and the men were stunned. Going around behind, we noticed that the license plates were SEAL-62 and SEAL-63. The men had served together in SEAL Team 6. Jim had been #2 and Paul, #3. Thus the plates.

Along with them were full sets of leathers, boots and helmets for both the men and their wives. The four dashed into the house and emerged moments later wearing their new gear. The couples got on and roared away. There is something really sexy about the sound those bikes make.

Missy, Marty and I stood in the drive waiting for them to return. I don't know how long they were gone, but when they returned I couldn't control my giggles. Both women had unzipped the fronts of their jackets and were teasing their nipples on the embroidery on the backs of their husbands' jackets.

They didn't even shut off the engines. Instead, all four just dashed up the steps and headed for their rooms.

An hour or so later, two naked women appeared rubbing their bare pussies. Speaking for both of them, JJ announced, "Missy, we hate you! Was that knob on the seat really necessary? I mean... It's awful! It's positioned so that the least movement of the bike causes our clits to rub up and down on it. To get some relief, we had to open our jackets so we could get off by chafing our nipples against our husbands' jackets. It was terrible! And... and... people were watching! And they saw our bare tits!"

"That's not so awful—" Marty began.

"With our tiny excuses for tits it sure is!" JJ interrupted.

By this time, I could see that Missy's eyes were tearing. She was upset. Her gift had backfired. "I could have those little posts removed in no time—"

"Don't you dare!" the two said in unison.

Then Maria gently rubbed her crotch and added, "I don't think I've ever been fucked that good before. And hot? Good grief! I just couldn't stop cuming!" She paused and then added softly, "It was utterly awful. And you know what you did, young lady?"

With her eyes wide, Missy slowly shook her head from side to side.

"You probably got both of us pregnant, too! Now how do you like that?"

Then Missy's tears began to flow as she continued to shake her head.

"Well," JJ interjected, "we adore the prospect!"

With that the two naked women hugged and kissed Missy so hard, the poor girl couldn't even breathe.

The Christmas feast was utterly marvelous; JJ really outdid herself.

And, from all the passers-by stopping in front of our house, others thought our tree was pretty neat, too.

And both JJ and Maria did turn out to be pregnant, although neither showed anything at all until mid-August when they were at the end of their eighth month. And you know what else? Throughout the whole process, the two of them just glowed with happiness and good health. Morning sickness? What's that?



-------

Chapter 10


The new year passed uneventfully until August. By that time, Missy was 12 — almost a teenager — and beginning to blossom. She had sprouted again, and by that time was already five feet eight and still growing. To her great delight, when she finally stopped, she was five feet ten and a skosh, just a tiny bit taller than her mother. It might have been a small fraction of an inch, but hearing the way she ragged on her mother about it, one would have thought the difference in height was a matter of feet.

The fact is I found myself wondering about her age. Could she be older than 12? She had been having regular periods beginning just a few months after coming to live with us. And, of course, when she arrived she was suffering from acute malnutrition. And one of the first affects of malnutrition is to shut off menses. Hmm... 

However, she was not a happy camper because she was still pretty flat-chested. Marty and I both told her that first, neither of us were particularly well-endowed, but beyond that, tall girls were often slow to develop on top. What we insisted on, though, was that she stand up straight with her shoulders back to highlight what she did have. And what she did have were lovely little nipples that stood up so perky and proud.

JJ and Maria were in the ninth month of their pregnancies and were actually starting to show it. If you can believe it, both of them were having trouble buttoning their Levi's. It was so bad, they were actually thinking of buying maternity clothes, but quickly rejected the idea. After all, we seldom wore clothes at all, so what the hell?

They were both disappointed because they hoped their tits would grow. Instead, they just remained perfect Bs.

But all in all, I had never seen JJ or Maria as happy as they were, nor their husbands so proud. And the four continued to ride the Harleys with the women wearing their boots with Levi's short shorts and their jackets. We learned, though, that whenever possible the girls took off their jackets, stuffed them in a saddlebag and rode topless. Of course, all of that was "blamed" on Missy. But strangely believe it, she was not at all contrite.

All she did was to caress their slightly bulging bellies while they bitched about all the additional exercising they had to do to support their by-then milk-heavy breasts without having to wear bras. Missy just commented that both babies were kicking up a storm.

She decided to bail out, though, before things went any further. That being the case, she decided it was a good time to take Prince and Duke for a walk. By then it was about four in the afternoon.

Awhile later, there was a call that Jim answered. I saw his face turn grim and he called for Paul. Then my eyes widened as I saw him check his weapon. "It's Missy," he said. "There's been trouble at the park."

And off they went.

A few minutes later, there was another call, which I took. Again, it was Jim. "Cathy, there's a big problem here. A girl has been brutally raped by a gang of young punks. The dogs took care of the rapists, but the girl needs help. I've already called 911 for police and an ambulance, but the girl desperately needs some TLC. Can you come down?"

Just then Marty appeared and the two of us jumped in a car and headed out. We arrived at the park before the authorities, but we could hear the sound of oncoming sirens from several different directions.

Reaching the park, we found our family. My eyes widened when I realized that Jim had taken off his shirt and had used it to cover the girl lying on the ground. Both dogs were standing by close to Missy, and only then did I realize they had blood on their jowls. Evidently at least a couple of the rapists had not gotten off scot free.

Before Marty or I had a chance to look more closely at the girl on the ground the area was swarming with blue uniforms. Missy was on her knees beside the girl whispering to her. But when the police arrived, she rose to her feet and asked, "Would you like to find the other rapists? Prince and Duke can find them for you."

A couple of officers — thankfully including a woman — were on the ground beside the victim while they waited for the ambulance. The remaining officers — I guess there were about six of them — ran off following the dogs. Marty and I stayed with the girl.

You know, that was one time we did the smart thing. It turned out that two of the rapists were already dead — one of the dogs took out their jugular veins — and since there was blood on the jowls of both we never knew which. Two others were on the ground. A dog had severed the Achilles tendon on one and had taken out a big piece of calf muscle from the other. Since there were more than enough officers to take care of things on the ground, the dogs bounded off toward the woods followed by the remaining four officers.

At that point an ambulance roared up; the rear doors popped open and the crew wasted no time getting the young woman ready to roll. Marty and I jumped in the back; the doors were slammed shut and we were rolling. Just then another ambulance rolled up, to take away the wounded attackers, I supposed.

While we were moving, the girl started to thrash on the stretcher on which she was being held down with straps. Marty took her hand and whispered, "Relax, sweetie. You'll be all right. And the reason we know is that both my mother and I have been rape victims." At the time, I put down Marty's comment as just being something to get the girl to relax.

Arriving at the hospital, Marty stayed with the girl who was being rushed into a treatment room. I stayed behind to take care of the paperwork. (Oh, yeah... Another point I may not have mentioned: Because of Marty's largesse, both of us were on the hospital's Board of Directors.) And as a director, I guess things went smoother than might otherwise have been the case.

While the paperwork was being processed, I noticed that camera crews — both still and TV — had arrived and were swarming like bees trying to gain access to the girl.

Someone at police headquarters was really using his or her brain that day. While the camera crews were still setting up, a young woman in uniform appeared on the scene. Obviously the camera crews knew her, but I certainly did not. It turned out that she was a police department PR girl and had been assigned to the case. She was good. In no time she had taken control of matters and issued a statement. Although they could not be certain, all indications were that the rape victim was a minor; as such, there could be no pictures nor any direct access to her by the press.

By that time I was finished and went off to find Marty. But as I got closer to the spokeswoman, I could see her holding an earpiece tight to her ear. Apparently she was receiving a message from headquarters. As she released the speaker she nodded her head. "Folks," she announced, "I've just been informed that two more alleged assailants have been arrested. This brings the count to six: two are dead, two are seriously injured, and two are in our custody. That's all I have for you at this time."

"Two are dead?" a reported exclaimed. "How did that happen? Who shot them?"

"That's a bit of a story," the young woman explained. "Last year we arrested a burglar and through him successfully raided his fence, putting him out of business and recovering a substantial quantity of stolen property. The arrest and recovery were the direct result of actions of two German Shepherds, Prince and Duke. Their owner — another minor!" she added while glaring at the reporters "— was walking with her dogs today near the park.

"She heard cries and sent her dogs to investigate. Apparently they came upon a rape in progress. They attacked and killed two of the rapists. From their position relative to the victim it seems they were in the process of raping her at the time. After dispatching those two, the dogs turned their attention to the others, severing the Achilles tendon on one and taking a piece out to the calf on another. When police arrived on the scene, the dogs led the officers to where the last two were hiding.

"I guess I never realized that Shepherds were good trackers," she mused. "But they certainly are. I learned that they went straight to where the two were hiding and would have gotten there much faster except for the need for the police officers to keep up. Apparently, Prince and Duke don't care for rape, even if it's not their mistress who's being attacked.

"That's all I have for you at this point."

I found Martha with the girl; she had never let go of Marty's hand and had insisted that she stay with her throughout the examination. By the time I got there, the doctors were finishing up and the girl was ready for transfer to a private room.

Even though Martha had been with the girl the entire time, nonetheless she had somehow managed to contact a private security company — one highly recommended by Jim and Paul — and they were already present in force waiting for the girl to be brought up from the ER (Emergency Room). There were two uniformed guards posted outside the door and there were two young ladies who we later learned had both been rape victims themselves who would alternate staying in the room with the girl. She was being very well protected!

Now that we were almost alone with the girl — the female security officer remained in the background — I got my first good look at her, and in spite of her injuries, the girl was beautiful.

"What's your name, sweetie?" Marty asked softly.

With a wry grin the girl replied, "Slut, Cunt, Skank or Whore. You can take your pick."

Marty frowned. "I mean your real name; I don't mean a pejorative."

I was astounded; the girl seemed to know what "pejorative" meant!

"They are my names, although there are others that are even worse. But none of them come to mind right now. I've only been around here for a couple of weeks. You see, I'm from a small—"

"—settlement in the mountains of western Virginia," Marty and I concluded in unison.

Then to me Marty said, "Why do I think it's about time to clean out that cesspool?"

"Because it is," I agreed vehemently. Turning to the girl, I looked at her more closely. While Marty and Missy had golden blonde hair and old me had silver, this girl's hair was a tawny gold, and she had the most incredible green eyes I had ever seen.

"Well," I said, "I guess it's time for you to get a name." I thought for a moment, grinned and added, "How about Candace? Then you could be Candy."

"Goody!" the girl said with a grin. "I never had candy until a few days ago, but I love it. Okay; now I'm Candy."

At that point the charge nurse came into the room and suggested — strongly — that it was time for Marty and me to leave. So we did. Only then did I realize that we had no transportation; we had arrived at the hospital riding in Candy's ambulance. When I mentioned it to Marty, all I got for my trouble was a cold glare.

I should have known better. Arriving at the main entrance, there was James — on duty, remember? — with our Rolls parked out front.

On the way home, Jim filled us in. It seems that Missy was utterly distraught. She was convinced that the police were going to put down both Prince and Duke. Nothing Jim, Paul, JJ or Maria could say seemed to make a difference. Marty just nodded once and used the car phone to make a call.

No sooner were we back at home than a police cruiser pulled up behind us and the Deputy Chief of Police, John Dempsey, got out. "I understand Missy is upset," were his first words. He continued, "I came over to see if I could help out."

The four of us went into the house together and found Missy, still crying her eyes out, while hugging and kissing her two dogs. "I don't care what anyone else says, guys; you were just great today!"

"And I sure second that!" Dempsey declared. "And so do all the other law-enforcement people who've heard about what your dogs did today." His unexpected words had the effect of startling Missy out of her tears. Furthermore, John was in full uniform. Although he normally worked in plainclothes, it was clear to me that, upon receiving Marty's call, he had raced home and changed into his full uniform believing — correctly, in my opinion — that Missy would be more inclined to believe him if he were in uniform. And with all the gold on a deputy chief's uniform, it was indeed impressive.

"But... but they killed people!" Missy exclaimed.

"And those people were in the process of committing a very serious felony!" Dempsey responded. "Moreover, a search of the area turned up four pistols — three automatics and a service revolver — with prints that matched the hoodlums. They were armed, Missy, and there were six of them and only two of your dogs.

"Furthermore, that service revolver was taken from the body of a dead policeman about six weeks ago. In addition to being rapists, those thugs might also have been cop-killers!"

Honest to God, I don't know how things could possibly have moved so fast! Dempsey reached into his pocket and brought out two thin flat boxes. Opening one he took out a medal. "This is the highest award for bravery a police department can award. And since it's normally reserved for active-duty officers, we're making Prince and Duke members of the Norfolk Police K-9 Corps. Of course, they're to continue with their permanent duty of guarding Melissa Catherine Smith."

Hugging her dogs even tighter, Missy exclaimed, "Did you hear that? You're both officially heroes! You're just so wonderful!"

That was met with low rumbles from deep in their bodies while their tails were thumping the floor as fast as they could go. As I've said before, those dogs are smart!

"But that's not all," Dempsey continued. "Although the lab work isn't complete, we have enough semen samples to indicate that those six have been involved in at least six other rapes... two of which resulted in the death of the victim. In other words, Missy, those thugs will not be missed.

"But I have a favor to ask of you, Missy," Dempsey concluded.

"Anything! Of course! What is it?"

"First, sweetie, we want to send those two medals out to be engraved. But in addition, we would like to make a formal presentation of them to your guardians a week from today on the steps of City Hall. Would that be possible?

"Of course!" Missy exclaimed. To the dogs she said, "Did you hear that, guys? You're going to be formally proclaimed as heroes a week from now! Isn't that just great?"

The dogs' rumbling just got louder.

"Aunt JJ!" Missy nearly screamed as she dashed from the room in the direction of the kitchen.

"What is it, child?" I heard JJ respond. "In the last days of my pregnancy I can hardly move around."

Yeah, sure! I think she may have gained five pounds — Maria gained about four — and she still had world-class times swimming her daily laps.

By that time the two were out of earshot so I don't know what was said. What I do know is that a few moments later Missy returned with the biggest, juiciest beef rib bones I've ever seen. Then with great formality she presented one to each of the dogs. Then she excused herself to move closer to the hearth where the dogs were positioned at each end preparing to go to work.

"I'm sorry, Chief," I explained. "As you may have heard, Prince and Duke never want Missy out of their sight. In order for them to enjoy their bones, she has to stay close by."

"Miss Smith," Dempsey replied, "I only wish those two could be on active duty with our K-9 Corps. They just might be the two finest police dogs alive."

"You'll get no argument from any of us!" Marty remarked.

-------

The next morning was funny, I suppose. Marty and I were in the kitchen talking to JJ when Maria came in from the pool. As she was drying herself off she casually asked JJ, "How often are your contractions?"

JJ felt her very slightly bulging abdomen and replied just as casually, "About every five minutes. How about you?"

"Think we should go to the hospital? After breakfast, I mean," Maria replied. "I'm about every five minutes, too." Then glaring at Marty — as usual — she asked JJ, "Didn't you find it a big pain in the cunt to be doing laps while the kid's struggling to get out? Except for the fact there is no shallow end, I might have just delivered at the end of a lap."

Believe it or not, that's exactly what those two did! They told the guys to get ready, but not to rush; they hadn't finished breakfast yet!

So off we went back to the hospital in two cars, arriving at 10. Would you believe it? JJ and Maria were hustled into a delivery room — they insisted on delivering together while holding hands — and each delivered a beautiful baby girl within less than 10 minutes of their arrival.

So much for 24+ hour labors!

By 11:00 the four of us were at the nursery window looking at the littlest Johnson and Díaz! And while newborns are often red and sort of crushed-looking, their baby girls were the most beautiful I've ever seen! And the two even sort of waved their arms in the direction of their fathers.

Shortly after, we went in to see the two girls in the room they were sharing. I was a bit surprised to see the two hospital beds side by side and touching. "We're sharing everything," Maria declared. "In fact..."

At that point the nurses came in with the two infants so their mothers could begin nursing them. As soon as they left the room, the girls swapped babies, and the babies could not have cared less. Each infant locked on a nipple and begin to nurse and swallow.

"Does yours taste like chocolate?" Maria asked softly.

"Probably not," JJ grumped. "I'm not nearly black enough for that to happen."

Then Maria added an explanation. "Our beds are so close because we're going to be sharing one as soon as the little ones are taken back to the nursery. It's going to be a few days before I'm ready to be fucked again, but JJ's tongue is almost as good as Marty's... and she's the best." She paused, looked up at the ceiling and wondered, "I wonder what she's going to taste like now? And what am I going to be like?"

-------

Timing worked out perfectly. The two mothers were already home from the hospital on the day Prince and Duke were to receive their awards. And we had just learned that Candy would be ready to leave the hospital that afternoon. The awards were to be made at 10:00 at City Hall.

But at exactly 8:30 that morning Marty had called Prudence Parker and told her that she wanted to adopt Candace Catherine Smith that day. She reminded her that it was 8:30 and the clock had started. At 9:05, her cell phone rang. It was Prudence to tell her that all relevant forms had been completed and that Judge Andrew Robbins would be available for the ceremony at any time after 3:00.

When Marty gave me the news, we shook hands.

Both Maria and JJ insisted on going to the ceremony. "But what about the babies?" I asked. "They're much too young to be left with a sitter."

The two mothers looked at me as if I had a screw loose. "Of course you're right, Marty," JJ responded. "That's why we're bringing them with us."

Incidentally, when the two dogs first saw the infants, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The dogs just got their snouts close, but not close enough for the infants to reach. We could see them just sniffing carefully as they locked the infants' scents into their memory. Meanwhile, their two tails were thumping to beat the band. It was clear they loved the tiny things.

As we drove in the Rolls to City Hall, JJ was nursing her baby while sitting beside Jim. He was proud as punch. At that point, the car phone rang. I picked it up and it was Robin Pierce. And Robin could scarcely control her laughter. "How do you like the new land speed record for adoptions? According to the time stamps, the elapsed time was 35 minutes. I've been afraid to check, but it wouldn't surprise me if — with the exception of your daughter's adoption of Missy — the prior record in the Commonwealth might have been 35 months!

"Incidentally, thanks to you folks, we've been making great progress. Adoptions are way up, and foster-home placements are way down.

"So thank you!"

The City Hall ceremony was most impressive. The Mayor himself spoke and made the awards to thunderous applause, particularly from the array of law-enforcement officers present. It seemed that everything that had been tentative when John Dempsey had been over had been confirmed. The six had been involved in what finally totaled to eight rapes rather than the six he had mentioned. They had been a six-man crime wave. The four in custody were looking at life in prison — best case for them — and possibly the death penalty which Virginia still has.

The two dogs were utterly magnificent, thanks in part to a visit the previous day to the top dog groomer in Tidewater. Moreover, when she learned who the dogs were, she refused to charge! Making them as handsome as possible became a labor of love for her.

With the medals glistening around their necks we finally made our escape.

It was only as we were arriving at the hospital to pick up Candy that I remembered that the poor girl had absolutely nothing to wear! Foolish me. Marty had obtained a magnificent outfit for her to wear. And although she was ready for discharge, her groin had been badly torn up making walking very painful for her.

No problem! A brand-new wheelchair was waiting for her and off we went to Judge Robbins' courtroom.

There we had a replay of the Missy episode. Not only was Missy there, but Prince and Duke were as well, still proudly wearing their medals. Also present for the ceremony was Robin Pierce representing Human Services; apparently Prudence had to go home to recover from the trauma of the expedited adoption.

With all the preparations, there was one minor matter that had been overlooked: No one had told Candy she was about to be adopted. As the proceedings unfolded, poor Candy was in a state of shock. Finally we reached the point at which Andy Robbins asked her if she wanted to be adopted as the daughter of Martha Stone Smith.

"Your Honor," Candy stammered, "I really don't know what to say. Just a week ago I was moments away from death. Suddenly things changed in a hurry. Two dogs — those two dogs! — charged up and tore the two rapists from my body, killing both I learned later." With that she reached out her arms and the dogs moved close, resting their muzzles side by side on an arm of the wheelchair. Candy kissed them both. "These are my saviors. And they belong to the warmest, nicest girl I've ever had the good fortune to meet, Melissa Catherine Smith.

"In the last week I learned that she was born in the same hell-hole I came from.

"No one mentioned adoption to me before. But all I can say is that this is the greatest family in the world. Nothing could please me more than to become Candace Catherine Smith!"

"Then it is so ordered," Andy intoned.

So in one week we had three new female members in our household.



-------

Chapter 11


That evening after dinner — a dinner that Candy said was beyond belief — I called for a family conference in the library. And the entire family was present, even the infants who spent the time in the arms of their Aunts Missy and Candy. Their mothers were ordered not to touch... except for baring a tit as might be required. Marty and I were astonished; Missy and Candy handled the infants with care and delicacy that made it seem that they had done nothing else for years.

"Okay, folks," I began. "It's time to put that miserable settlement out of business... permanently. Any ideas?"

Paul looked at Jim. They seemed to exchange a wordless message and then Jim firmly nodded his head. "I guess it's time to call in Rob Collins," Paul said softly.

"And who is Rob Collins?" Marty asked.

With a lopsided smile Paul replied, "Well, as you know, Missy bought us Harleys for Christmas. My plate is SEAL-63; Jim's is SEAL-62. The numbers indicate we were in SEAL team 6; Jim was #2 and I was #3." He paused and then continued, "Rob Collins' bike's plate would be SEAL-61. He was a lieutenant (j. g.) and the team leader. That's who Rob Collins is."

"Where is he now?" Missy asked. "What's he doing?"

"He's in New York," Jim replied. "He's making tons of money, but he's bored to tears. I'm certain he'll come with us. And if he does, he's all we're going to need."

Marty had been listening carefully. She spoke up finally and said, "We're missing something very important. That slime pit has been operating for years out there. Over that period of time word of its operation must have leaked out to someone. And remember Ben Franklin's dictum: 'Three men can keep a secret if two of them are dead.'

"Let's face it: That place isn't a secret and can't be. So that means they've got cover from somebody or bodies somewhere. Moreover, they have to have sufficient clout to stop a raid before it happens. Remember, there are dozens if not hundreds of women and girls out there. It's not like a Prohibition-era speakeasy or gambling joint where the evidence could be hidden in a matter of moments. Furthermore, let's not forget the body disposal. From what I remember, and from Missy, there have to be hundreds of bodies buried close by."

"That's why I said just the three of us," Jim interjected. "From everything we hear, there are very few guys out there. Certainly no more than the three of us can handle. But there's something more we're going to need..."

"What's that?" Marty asked.

"We're going to have to become agents of the Virginia Bureau of Investigation. Then we've got all the legal cover we're going to need."

That time it was Marty's and my turn to exchange looks and then forceful nods. "Jim, you and Paul get on the horn to your friend Rob Collins. Before I make a call, I want to be sure he's onboard."

That matter only took a few moments. Paul reported back, "He's coming down on the first flight tomorrow morning. Is that good enough?"

Marty just nodded and went to her Rolodex again. And again she placed a call to the governor on his private line. She grinned when the first thing he did was to ask about Missy and asked her to give her dogs a big hug from him. Then Marty proceeded to explain the situation. It turned out that the governor had remembered the events surrounding Missy's adoption, including the hell-hole she had escaped from. "Anyone who puts that outfit out of business permanently will be doing an immense favor for the Commonwealth. Now what specifically do you want me to do?"

That took only a few more moments; then the governor ended the call. A few minutes later the phone rang; it was the chief of the Virginia Bureau of Investigation who proceeded to swear in Paul and Jim over the phone. Then he slowly read the words so they could swear in Rob Collins when he arrived.

With that out of the way, Paul raised the next question: "What about equipment?"

"I've been thinking about that," Jim said, "and I think I have an answer. First, we're lucky because Norfolk is about as far from that place as it's possible to be and still be in Virginia. Assuming they're plugged into law enforcement agencies, it's unlikely that their reach extends this far. Furthermore, I'm sure the locals would help us out. That being the case, how about borrowing some gear from Norfolk SWAT? From what I've seen when we've been on the range with those guys they have everything we could possibly need."

"And our relationship with Norfolk P.D. couldn't be better," Marty interjected. "Only today we received confirmation that one of the guys our boys put down permanently was a cop-killer... a Norfolk cop killer! As of today, those guys would give you everything they have. And that's not even to mention what we and Missy did for the Patrolman's Benevolent Fund.

"Great idea, Jim!" she added. "I really think it's going to fly."

And that ended the family meeting. I really felt good about the prospects.

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The next morning the boys took the Rolls out to the airport to meet Rob Collins. When they returned, I was the first to see him... and I felt my heart roll over. Glancing over to Marty, it was apparent she had been gobsmacked, too. Oh, well... we were used to sharing everything.

Reading that paragraph over, I guess it really wasn't too informative. Aside from the fact that I thought Rob walked on water, did not get feet wet. He was very tall — about six feet four, I guessed — with brilliant blue eyes — like Missy, Marty and me — and sandy hair. Although he was dressed in a business suit, I guess my senses had been sharpened enough that I recognized that the suit had been specially cut to allow for very large biceps and thighs like tree trunks. In short, he was a hunk. Suddenly, I could feel myself blushing... and getting very wet. That was because — for the very first time in my life — I found myself wondering if his package was as big as the rest of him. He'll split me in half! I mentally exclaimed.

Did I ever mention that Marty and I always seemed to be on the same page? What happened immediately after provided confirmation. I hadn't uttered a single word, but she whispered, "And you'll love it, too!"

While I was daydreaming, Jim and Paul were trying to make introductions. Only then did it appear that Rob was as taken with the two of us as we were with him. "My God!" he muttered. "The two most beautiful women on the face of the Earth! And you're my size, too."

Indeed, at five-ten and wearing two-inch heels we were both looking almost straight into his eyes.

And it continued! And got even worse! Since Rob was a guest of Jim and Paul, Maria and JJ joined us in the library. And even though she had only been with us for less than a day, Candy insisted on serving along with Missy.

I said it got worse. "How?" you wonder. Well, when Missy first laid eyes on Rob Collins it looked like she had walked face-first into a brick wall. Gobsmacked!

When we took seats in the library, Rob sat smack in the middle of our leather-covered sofa and motioned for Marty and me to sit on each side. Which we did. Can you believe it? I actually found my head resting on his right shoulder! And glancing to the left, I saw my daughter with her head on his left.

Was that all? For either of us? Hell, no! Simultaneously, we both let out loud sighs and snuggled as close to him as we could get. And did that bother Rob? Again, hell no! He just used his very powerful arms to pull both of us closer. And the only way we could have gotten any closer would have been to shed all our clothes. And you know what? I was actually giving that some serious thought.

Looking at Maria and JJ, it was apparent the two were struggling to try to control their giggles. Of course, each was snuggled as close as she could get to her mate.

I was utterly astonished at Candy! She was out of the hospital for less than 24 hours — and she had been in a wheelchair, yet — but she was serving drinks as if nothing had ever happened. (I learned the next day from Missy that Candy had been in agonizing pain all that day, but had never shown the least sign. Clearly, girls from that hell-hole were tough!) Marty and I, along with Rob, were drinking Cardhu; JJ and Maria were drinking white-wine spritzers. I don't know what Paul and Jim had.

As soon as the girls served the drinks and brought out platters of JJ's perfect canapés, they disappeared only to quickly reappear with the two infants, both of whom were ready for lunch (?). The mothers lost no time in baring themselves to the waist to nurse their daughters.

"What incredible beauty!" Rob exclaimed.

At that point Jim explained what Sergeant Crawford had said: he didn't realize that the Navy issued beauties to Navy Cross winners.

"Well? What about me?" Rob complained. "I have the Navy Cross with an oak leaf cluster (in lieu of a second award)."

Jim pointedly looked at me, then at Marty and retorted, "Well, what?"

Do you know what that bastard, Robert Collins did then? You're not going to believe it! Using only his left hand, he lifted my chin and... and... kissed me! I could feel his tongue probing — thank God that I had experience with Marty! — making contact with mine, and then starting a dance. In the meantime, I felt like I was being electrocuted! It was utterly unreal. Then very gently he lowered my chin to his shoulder and turned his attention to Marty.

Same song, second verse. When they finally eased apart, I'm pretty sure Marty's eyes were glazed. I say "pretty sure" because I still wasn't seeing very clearly myself. So I just snuggled as deeply into his shoulder as I could. And Marty-the-bitch was doing the exact same thing!

When the babies finished nursing and the girls took them away to burp them, change them and put them in their bassinets, Jim and Paul started to fill Rob in on their assignment after first swearing him in.

It was clear to me that Rob was puzzled. He understood the concept of the raid, but clearly he didn't understand what that hell-hole really was. I rang — how civilized of me — and Missy and Candy both returned to the room.

"Candy, you're the most recent resident of that... that place! Would you mind stripping so that Mr. Collins can see some of the damage?" To Rob I said, "Candy was the victim of a gang rape just a week ago." He cringed! "But I'm sure you're experienced enough with wounds to tell new ones from old ones."

Candy very casually stripped bare. And, like Missy, because she had spent her entire life naked, being bare was more comfortable for her than being clothed. While Candy was stripping, Missy was, too. I don't know if it was an excuse to get out of her own clothes or to lend Candy moral support.

Both girls showed the soles of their feet. Even after all that time, Missy still showed the scars, while Candy's, of course, were much fresher. Then she showed where she had been whipped on her forming breasts — she was significantly farther along than was Missy — then turned to display her back, buttocks and inner thighs.

Very casually, Candy pointed out that, since she was one of the best behaved of the younger girls, she didn't receive nearly as much punishment as most. I thought Rob was going to vomit on the spot.

Then Missy told in detail how the women were bred until, after about 20 babies, they could do no more and were taken away to be executed. As she told the story, Candy and Marty chimed in appropriately with explanations and additional details. It was nearly 2:00 before they finished.

At that point JJ jumped from her seat and raced toward the kitchen. Our lunch was going to be late, an unforgivable sin in her mind.

I looked at Rob, and honest-to-God, in spite of his deep tan, the man was white!

"What do you think?" Paul asked softly.

In the deadliest voice I've ever heard Rob replied, "There's an urgent need for some exterminators, and we've got the job." He paused and then added, "Quite honestly, never in my life have I gone off on a mission feeling as good about the mission objective as I do now!

"When do we start?"

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Like everyone else, Rob raved about the lunch. JJ had apologized up and down for the lateness, but then very diffidently asked if dinner could be delayed an hour. Rob retorted that if every meal in the house was like the one he had just eaten, Paul and Jim would have to roll him west to the target settlement.

"We have another way of taking care of that," Maria responded blithely. "We have a torture chamber here in the house that's otherwise known as Marty's exercise room."

Marty and I spent the rest of the afternoon showing Rob around our property. Would you believe it? I was explaining some fascinating feature or other when Rob just pulled me close and kissed me. And you know what? I forgot all about the feature, whatever it might have been. Of course, I wasn't the Lone Ranger. He was doing exactly the same thing with Marty and obtaining the same result. By the time we finished the tour, Marty and I agreed that Rob had exactly split his attention between us.

Like everyone else, Rob raved about Missy's fence painting. The surprising thing — to me at least — was his interest in our home's engineering. He peered all around the gas turbines, but there really wasn't much to see. He really concentrated his attention on our water and air systems. He was truly fascinated. Finally he declared, "This is the finest private residence in the Nation... bar none!"

Why was I so delighted to hear that? Why was Marty?

Again we had a cocktail hour, and again Missy and Candy presented us with an array of gorgeous canapés, which, of course, were totally different from the ones served before lunch.

Oh! I forgot one thing: I may have mentioned that on the infrequent occasions we use the dining room, I sit at one end of the table and Marty sits at the other. But that's not the way we sat that day... or at any subsequent day, for that matter. Instead, Rob sat at the head of the table; I sat at his right and Marty at his left. But again, Marty's and my places were swapped at every meal.

Never did we find out who made the swaps.

And again, Rob pronounced the meal the finest he had ever eaten. "I've eaten at all of the very best restaurants in New York, and many say they're the best in the world. Notwithstanding, there's not a single one that can come close to what I've eaten here! Jane Johnson, you are a witch!"

Oh, dear! From the way JJ was squirming in her seat, the fact that she had delivered just a day or so earlier had nothing to do with nothing! I could tell that she was going to be well and truly fucked that night or Jim wouldn't get out of their room alive!

We adjourned to the library and the Díazes and Johnsons excused themselves. To get an early start on the evening, I'm sure. Marty broke out the Louis XIII and the Cuban cigars friends smuggled in from Canada. As expected, she oh-so-carefully lighted a corona for Rob, then lighted panatellas for the two of us. "Since Rob isn't going to fuck us tonight, we might as well."

"How do you know that?" he asked while trying to muffle a grin.

"Because I don't believe in fucking a guy until I've known him at least 24 hours. And Mother doesn't either."

I don't? Oh, well... 

Again we were seated on the sofa, and again both Marty and I were snuggled as close to Rob as we could get.

"You know," he mused, "this has been the most incredibly good day of my entire life! But there's one problem..."

"And what's that?" Marty asked in a sleepy whisper.

"The problem is that I love you both!"

"Why's that a problem?" she asked in the same sleepy whisper.

"Well... It just is."

"Mom and I believe in sharing," Marty continued in the same half-asleep tone. "She's my lover, by the way. And I guess..." At that point she groped him and her eyes opened wide. "I know that you can satisfy us both... but not tonight. But oh, boy! Is she ever going to get a workout."

Turning her head to look at Rob she asked, "Are you going to exercise with us in the morning?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well... we're naked," Marty blurted.

"You mean I'll see you and your mother bare tomorrow morning?"

Marty just nodded.

Rob was about to say something more, but quit.

"What were you about to ask?" I said.

"I was going to ask for a preview, but then I remembered that I never fuck a girl I've known for less than 24 hours, and from what I feel, if I saw the two of you bare, my record would go down the drain."

With a shrug, Marty and I led Rob up the stairs to his suite. "By the way," he asked, "how many of these suites do you have?"

I looked at Marty and shrugged. She did the same. "Enough," I replied. "We'll see you in the morning."

That night was the most violent night of lovemaking either of us ever experienced. I almost bit off her not-so-tiny clit while she was trying to detach my nipples. Fortunately, neither of us succeeded.


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Incomplete and Inactive
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Posted:  2006-10-13
Last Modified: 2009-11-14 / 10:52:03 am
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